


Resident Evil Exodus: The Tale of Elza Walker (Part 1)

by RMandel



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 17:25:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 87,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12940131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RMandel/pseuds/RMandel
Summary: Among the many stories that have come to us from the events surrounding the Raccoon City T-virus Outbreak of late September, 1998, is the tale of one particular and remarkable woman.  She is a person who by all rights should be as familiar and as famous as many of the more storied characters, both male and female, and both good and bad, who emerged from that horrible catastrophe.  The reasons for that are many, and will not be dealt with here.  Nevertheless, her adventure is no less dramatic, no less involved, and no less inspiring, than those of her fellow survivors from that disaster.  She suffered more than most, endured more horror that most, and almost paid the ultimate price for daring to challenge that calamity ... yet in the end, she survived.  She not only emerged from that hell on earth but went on to become one of the biggest names behind the scenes in the modern struggle against global bioterrorism.  Even today, even though she is no longer the action-oriented and adventuresome young woman she was back then, she plays her part and carries her share of the burden with just as much drive and determination as her more famous counterparts.That woman is Dr. Elizabeth Ann "Elza" Walker.  THIS is her story.





	Resident Evil Exodus: The Tale of Elza Walker (Part 1)

RESIDENT EVIL: Exodus - The Tale of Elza Walker  
by Richard Mandel

 

based on characters and concepts created by Capcom®, Ltd.  
Wattpad edition  
(based on the v4.10 text)

 

1996 original scenario by Hideki Kamiya and Isao Oishi  
2008 revised scenario by Fumio Yamaguchi  
2014-15 reversioning by Richard Mandel

 

Exodus concept, selected characters and events, and this manuscript copyright © 2015 Richard Mandel. All other Resident Evil©® materials are the intellectual property of Capcom®, Ltd.

Use of Capcom's materials in this work of fiction is meant solely for the entertainment purposes of my fellow Resident Evil©® fans, and is not meant to be infringing in any way, express or implied, or in any form, shape, or fashion.

Please be advised that it is Capcom, not I, who holds the ultimate right with regards to all things produced under the Resident Evil©® title, and as such it is they who have the final say with regards to the availability, use, duplication, or distribution of this work.

Any relationship to any person or persons - living, dead, or undead - is solely coincidental.

\--------------------

Book jacket promo blurb

Among the many stories that have come to us from the events surrounding the Raccoon City T-virus Outbreak of late September, 1998, is the tale of one particular and remarkable woman. She is a person who by all rights should be as familiar and as famous as many of the more storied characters, both male and female, and both good and bad, who emerged from that horrible catastrophe. The reasons for that are many, and will not be dealt with here. Nevertheless, her adventure is no less dramatic, no less involved, and no less inspiring, than those of her fellow survivors from that disaster. She suffered more than most, endured more horror that most, and almost paid the ultimate price for daring to challenge that calamity ... yet in the end, she survived. She not only emerged from that hell on earth but went on to become one of the biggest names behind the scenes in the modern struggle against global bioterrorism. Even today, even though she is no longer the action-oriented and adventuresome young woman she was back then, she plays her part and carries her share of the burden with just as much drive and determination as her more famous counterparts.

That woman is Dr. Elizabeth Ann "Elza" Walker. THIS is her story.

\--------------------

Introduction

This novel is inspired by the events depicted in the cancelled videogame known as Resident Evil 1.5. It is based on a story outline that was submitted to me back in 2009 by the late Fumio Yamaguchi, a fellow fan who worked with me on the RETV project years ago. His argument then was there was enough unused original content in RE1.5 to create an all-new adventure - one that could be tied in to the events that take place at the end of the "Desperate Times" scenario in Resident Evil Outbreak: File 2. His original outline eventually served as the basis for the RETV episode "The Gauntlet."

I have tried to write this novel in the same general vein as Fumio's original concept, but adjusted to take into account the latest information available on the game itself. I also wanted to bring the story in line with current franchise canon as much as I could. That means I've had to revise or rewrite a number of RE1.5's events accordingly in order to make the necessary changes for this story. I have had to the RE1.5 game maps and game progression somewhat, and I have also taken into account what I believe to be some of the better ideas that this lost game's many fans have had over the past two decades or so. Be that as it may, I hope all of you will bear in mind the chief point of this fanfic. That is to demonstrate that those ideas that are still unique to RE1.5, and were never recycled into RE2 or subsequent RE games, can even today serve as the basis for an all-new and thoroughly enjoyable classic RE experience. That was my aim, anyway. I hope I have succeeded.

\--------------------

Acknowledgements

There are so many people who deserve a word of thanks for making this novel possible. If I were to list them all, then that would be a novel in and of itself. There are also a small handful of people who might think they deserve the lion's share of credit, but who proved to be far more of a hindrance than a help. They know who they are, and that is all I will say about them. Even so, I would like to make special mention of four people in particular who helped me more than any others with this effort. First and second are my parents - who will never read this book, as they do not like horror stories, but who are proud of their son the writer all the same. They have always supported me regardless of where my writing takes me, and for that I have always been grateful. Third, I would like to thank Major Edward MacFarland, U.S. Army (retired), for providing lots of helpful advice and information regarding all matters tactical and military. You will see portions of his influence scattered in various parts of the back two-thirds of this book. Fourth and last, but certainly not least, is my good friend and stalwart backer darksaviourDXP - or DXP for short, as he is known to his friends on the Internet. He was always there for me when most of the rest of the RE1.5 scene chose to believe the salacious rumors and tall tales that some on "the scene" were spreading about me back then ... and he eventually got to find out for himself just how untruthful they were. If it had not been for his unflagging support and helpful comments, I could have never seen Exodus through to completion.

Finally, I would like to thank both the deviantArt website and its many resident artists for both welcoming me into their fold and allowing me to share this novel with them first and foremost. If you had not been there, then I might not have have ever been willing to undertake this task at all. Knowing that there is an audience willing to receive whatever you might be willing to share is most important to any artist - even wordsmiths like myself. Thank you, one and all.

Richard Evan Mandel - 7 December 2015

\--------------------

Prologue

The red glow of an uncertain sunset suffused the cloudy night sky, as the dreary half-light of the previous day began to fail. The students at Raccoon University milled around in the parking lot, unsure as to what to do or where to go next. Their uncertainty and growing fear was all too evident. They had been advised to prepare for an evacuation to be done by helicopter from selected nearby locations, such as the trolley yard and the old RPD station. That had been the last they had heard of it, and that had been two days ago. The sounds and sights of the Outbreak continued to grow and get worse all around them, and there were even reports that the zombies were overrunning Raccoon University itself. If that was true, then nobody had much time left. They had to get the hell out of there, and soon.

Ears pricked up at the sound of approaching trucks. Head swiveled, and both students and staff crowded to the edge of the parking lot to see. There was a long column of heavy-duty military trucks approaching. Most were of the standard U.S. Army M35 long-bonnet type, although there were more than a few of a more modern slab-nose variety. The anxiety on the faces of all smoothed into relief - and then just as abruptly vanished into concern and alarm. One by one, each of the trucks passed the entrance of the university parking lot and drove on by, heading down the road toward the freeway on-ramp. Everyone looked at each other, as their fear and uncertainty began to mount. Surely this was the promised evacuation convoy to the pick-up point? Some began to wave frantically, and others began to shout, but the convoy seemed to make a point of ignoring them. Finally, though, two M35 heavy transport trucks detached themselves from the rest and turned into the parking lot. This was far too few for everyone - but perhaps they were only the escort, the organizers, whatever. A little bit of the fear began to dissipate in the university parking lot, but then it rebuilt just as quickly. As each truck stopped in turn, it immediately disgorged a squad or more of burly-looking and heavily armed men in unfamiliar uniforms - and these completely ignored the civilians nearby. On their backs was something that looked like the Umbrella corporate logo, save that there were what looked like two swords thrust through it at diagonal angles. Sometimes above and sometimes below the insignia, depending on the uniformed individual, could be seen the initials UBCS.

"Hey, those aren't G.I.s!" one student said to another. "I've never seen uniforms like those before!"

"What in the world?" said one of the staffers. She was a prim-looking woman garbed in the standard University staff brown power suit worn by the receptionists and secretaries. She looked fearfully at a fellow University staffer, a tall middle-aged man with greying temples and dark slacks who was wearing a lab coat over his shirt and tie. "Isn't this the start of the evacuation, Frank?"

Frank looked worried, too. "I don't know," he said. "I'll go find out."

The man named Frank disconnected himself from the group of students and staffers. Summoning his courage, he walked up to the group of armed soldiers gathering around the first truck. There were at least a dozen of them, and only one of him. He sighted an older man with white hair shot through with silver highlights who was giving orders in something that sounded like Russian, and decided that he must be the one in charge.

"Excuse me ... sir?"

The white-haired man stopped giving orders and gave Frank a sneer. "What do you want?" he spat, in English but with a very thick Russian accent.

"Are you part of the evacuation?" Frank asked, somewhat hesitantly.

"No," the white-haired man growled. He made a show of pulling his pistol, then waved it at Frank. "Now shut the hell up and go away, and take your riff-raff with you. We have work to do."

Back in the crowd of students and staffers, this had not gone unnoticed. "Russians?" said one young man. "What is this, Red Dawn?"

"Maybe they called in the U.N.," ventured another.

"If they did, they'd be wearing blue berets and that truck would be white," said a third. "Something's very wrong here."

Meanwhile, back at the truck, Frank was still trying to make himself understood to the white-haired soldier, and he was not succeeding. All he succeeded in doing was becoming more and more exasperated, while the white-haired soldier became more and more sullen and unresponsive. "But they said they were coming!" Frank yelled. "We've been waiting for two days now, and no one's shown up! You're the first official people who've come along since! Please! Tell us what's happening! We've GOT to get out of here!!"

The white-haired soldier didn't even look at him. "Get out of my way," he said, in his thickly accented English, as he shoved away Frank, his pistol still in his hand, and began to walk past him.

It was then that Frank acted. As the soldier began to go by, he lunged out in front of him. Grabbing the man's jacket lapels with both hands, he screamed into his face. "Listen to me, you-!!!"

There was the loud krak! of a gunshot. Frank suddenly stiffened, and his face turned ashen white. Blood began to spread from his stomach across his shirt, and down both his belt and pants, staining the edges of his white lab jacket whenever it came into contact. The white-haired soldier sneered into the dying Frank's face. "You were saying?"

One of the female students screamed. It was like a signal to the others. Everyone in the parking lot who wasn't wearing a uniform broke and ran. It was not all that different from being in a chicken coop after someone had just thrown in a live fox. There was the sound of vehicles starting, of others colliding, sometimes violently, of cursing and swearing and screaming and pleading ... and as the students and staff continued their panic, the white-haired soldier stood over the now-fallen body of Frank and smiled.

From out of that mad mass shot a lone motorcycle, heading straight towards the truck and the white-haired soldier. Its rider was helmeted, but she was obviously female - judging from both her form and the long blond hair flowing out from behind the bottom of her helmet. Her helmet's colors and markings matched those of the red-and-white racing firesuit that she was wearing, one that was emblazoned with the logo of the Raccoon University racing team. She crossed the space between the parked vehicles and the parked truck in a matter of seconds. It was just enough time for the white-haired soldier to raise his pistol and aim it dead-on at the approaching bike. He held his fire, though, even as it blew past inches away from him. It continued on past the truck, then towards and through the parking lot exit some distance away.

A big burly arm came seemingly out of nowhere. Its hand grabbed the wrist of the hand the white-haired soldier was using to hold his pistol and forced it down. "Nikolai!" another voice cried, also in thickly accented English. "We are here to save civilians, not kill them!"

"If they interfere with the assignment then I will kill them," Nikolai said evenly. "They are expendable in that regard. Those are my orders, Mikhail - and so are yours."

Mikhail, the big burly man belonging to the arm that had grabbed Nikolai, and the one who was supposed to be nominally in charge, regarded his subordinate intensely for a moment. After that, he let go of Nikolai's wrist. Nikolai re-holstered his pistol even as the other vehicles in the parking lot began to pull clear and make their way for the exit. Unlike the lone biker, however, they went around the backside of the parked trucks, staying well clear of the armed soldiers.

Mikhail looked away at the road. The lone biker who had started the exodus of student and staff vehicles from the university had made it to the on-ramp, and was heading up to the raised freeway nearby. "The girl's got stones," he said approvingly. "I hope she makes it."

"Bah," Nikolai grunted. "She won't. The whole town's gone to hell." Without looking again at Mikhail, he walked over to the assembled soldiers and addressed them. "All right! Enough of the preliminaries. Your job is to find the man or his pet, or both. Split up, search in pairs. Everybody be on your toes."

As Nikolai dispatched the men, Mikhail continued to stare at the lone biker receding in the distance on the freeway. "Go, girl," he whispered. "Get away if you can. If I could, I would be going too."

\--------------------

STAGE ONE - THE OLD RPD

Chapter 1 - Refuge

It was late in the evening of the 28th of September, 1998 – the fourth day of the T-virus outbreak in Raccoon City. The Outbreak, as it would ever after be known. There was a longer, more official-sounding term that used many more syllables but said far less. For the pitiful handful who lived through that entire event and somehow survived to tell about it, those two simple words - the Outbreak - said enough.

The street that ran alongside the eastern walls of the old Raccoon Police Department (RPD) station house was temporarily clear of zombies. The reason was obvious enough, for anyone still human who might have looked down upon the scene. A swath of death even for the undead had been cleared by an out-of-control police SWAT van. It had just finished crashing into the back of the building, smashing through a retaining wall in the process. The front end, with its shattered front axle, had caught on the remains of the wall itself at its broken base, while the rest of the van remained outside. Thus, it neatly plugged the very hole it had created.

Things were no better within the small walled courtyard behind the RPD, where the front half of the wrecked SWAT van now protruded. The wreck had split the van's gas tank, and most of it had spilled inside the courtyard. A fire had started several minutes later – most likely by a spark from the van's still-live electrical system. Fortunately by then, enough of the gas had spilled and dispersed to prevent an immediate explosion. Even so, all of it ignited at once, completely engulfing the van and almost half of the inner courtyard in a spectacular gout of flame. Anybody who would have been caught in that instantaneous fireball would have died a horrific death. The fire had claimed only one victim, however, and he - or rather it - had already been dead. It was the zombie who had been on the front of the van when it had wrecked, almost completely blocking the driver's side of the windshield as it had clawed at the window, trying to get at the driver inside. It was now burning alive - or unalive, perhaps? - and its fatal wails filled the courtyard and the streets beyond as it staggered about, then fell to its knees and collapsed. Seconds later, it was little more than a pile of roasting flesh and burning bones. The same went for the other body in the flames – but it had already been dead before the fire had even broken out. It had been the driver of the van, and he had been killed instantly in the crash. The only reason his body had been left in the driver's seat was that the van's two passengers - who had been in the back - had been forced to make good their hurried escape. There had been no time even to say a few words over him. No time ... and now both the dead and the undead thing that had caused the wreck were perishing in the flames.

Huddled in the far corner of the courtyard, where both the lee of the RPD building and a large packing crate protected them from the heat and flames, were two dirty and disheveled police officers. One was a well-built man in his mid- to late twenties, with a square jaw and reddish brown hair parted in the middle. He wore the short-sleeve version of the padded blue fatigues of an RPD officer assigned to the Special Police Force (SPF), the department's new elite SWAT unit. The other was a petite woman officer who also appeared to be about the same age, wearing the light blue shirt and dark blue pants more commonly worn by the rest of the force. She had short, closely cropped blond hair, and might have easily been mistaken for a meter maid back in the day had it not been for the standard issue gunbelt she wore. Both man and woman were armed - and fortunately for them both, their pistols had been holstered when the van wrecked. Any other weapons or gear they might have had were now burning with it. All they had left to them was what was on their person – and it was all they had left to survive.

Kevin Ryman watched the van burn. He heard Rita Burnside, his companion, crying beside him. "Poor Harry ..." she sobbed. "Oh, God ... poor Harry ...."

Kevin didn't say a word. He just put a comforting hand on her shoulder and let her cry. And that was how they remained for a few minutes - a few precious minutes - watching the van burn and all of their hopes for escape from Raccoon City with it, mourning the loss of their friend Harry Weems and wondering if they would ever make it out of the city alive.

* * * * *

"Kevin?"

"Yeah?"

Rita's crying had now stopped. "The zombies had the old station surrounded. That means—"

"Yeah, I know." Kevin tried to keep from sounding grim. "There's only one way to find out if they got inside."

Kevin stood up, flexing his knees a bit as he did so. He then looked down at the crate blocking the back door. "Gimme a minute, will ya?" With that he put his shoulder to the crate, and pushed it forward – just enough to clear one of the doors. He then stood up, rubbing his shoulder. "Wonder how that got there. Made for one hell of a barricade, though."

Rita looked worried. "How are we going to block it back once we go inside?"

Kevin shrugged. "We can't. Let's just hope the inside lock still works." With that he tried the door. The handle turned slightly, and then clicked as it hit the lock bolt inside the mechanism. "Well, that answers that," he grimaced, looking back at her. "Door's locked."

"Oh, swell," Rita said. "You know we're not going to last long out here."

"I know," Kevin said. He looked up, then at the crate, then back again at Rita. "I got an idea," he said. "Up on the crate, and I'll join you. I'm going to boost you up to the back roof."

"How will that help?"

"There should be a couple of large outside vents up there big enough to crawl through, once you remove their shutters. Cap'n Denham told me they had 'em to cool the place down back when it was first built, before the building was backfitted with central heat and air."

"Oh, yeah," Rita said. "Now I remember." She smiled as he helped her up onto the crate, and then he joined her. "Good thing I'm small," she said, as he stooped and helped her climb up on his back.

"You may be small, but you're not light," Kevin grumbled – but there was laughter in his voice as he did. "Brace yourself on the wall as I stand up."

By the time they were done, Kevin was standing up and had a firm grip on Rita's ankles. She was standing on his shoulders. "The edge of the roof is broken here," she called down to him. "I think I can get a grip."

"I'll boost you when you're ready," Kevin said. "Three count once you are."

"Just a minute," Rita said, grabbing for a handhold as best she could. "All right. I'm ready."

"One ... two ... THREE!"

With an effort, Kevin pushed Rita upward. She wasn't as heavy as he had joked. She might have weighed a hundred twenty pounds at best soaking wet. The push was enough for Rita to get halfway up on the roof, and she was able to scramble the rest of the way. "I'm up!" she called.

"Good!" Kevin said, looking up at her. She was now standing on the broken roof edge, looking down at him. He grinned. "Wanna pull me up?"

"I would if I could," she frowned, but humorously. "You know that." She looked around, then off to the side and beyond the wrecked van. Her voice now took on an edge of concern. "Kevin, the streets are filling back up. That van's got that hole pretty well plugged, but still—"

"Then you'll have to hurry," Kevin said. "You gotta get inside and let me in, or I'm fixin' to be a zombie blue plate special."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Rita said, unable to hide her own anxiety.

"I know you will." Kevin smiled reassuringly up at her. "Now get going."

"But how will I open those vents?" she asked.

"Use your foot," Kevin replied. "Kick 'em open."

Rita grimaced. "I can high kick, Kevin, but not that high."

"Do the best you can," Kevin said. "Pry 'em open if you have to. Now hurry."

Rita gave him one last look, and Kevin smiled again. With that, she turned from the edge of the roof and looked around. She saw right away that trying to reach the first vent was useless. It was almost as high up on the outer wall as the climb she had just made, and there was nothing up here on which she could stand. "Damnit," she muttered, and then trotted on around the corner to the rest of the roof.

Here Rita was in luck. It seemed that there had been work underway to replace the second floor HVAC (heating, ventilation, and air conditioning) units. One of these looked almost brand new, and was sitting only partway in position. It had not been fully connected to the building. The other older unit remained firmly fixed in place. A large packing crate, almost identical to the one in the back courtyard, sat in a corner of the roof made by the second floor's outer walls. "Probably the other new unit," Rita thought to herself, "and the first old one is in the crate below ready to be shipped." She then looked above the crate, and almost squealed in delight. It was sitting directly below the other outside vent.

"I found one!" she called back to Kevin. "I'm gonna try to get inside!"

"Good luck!" she heard Kevin call back.

With that, Rita climbed onto the crate. The vent, as she remembered was firmly fixed in place with large steel screws – but they were on the inside, and she was on the outside. Rita did as Kevin had advised her to do. After positioning herself on the crate as far back as she could without falling off or losing her balance, she delivered a series of swift, hard, upper kicks to the outside of the vent. It gave way on the fourth kick, clattering into the darkness beyond. She poked her head in and gave a quick look around, but all she could see was a dark hallway in either direction. The darkness prevented her from seeing very far. "Power's out," she said to herself. "That isn't good. It was still on when I was last here." She drew her gun, made sure it was loaded and a round chambered, then reholstered it. She then reached up with both hands, grabbed the edge of the roof in front of and above her, then swung herself through the opened vent.

 

* * * * *

Rita dropped feet first onto the floor of the darkened hallway. She had pulled her pistol even as her feet hit the floor. Now she assumed a firing stance and swept the hall in both directions. There was no movement, and no sounds save for that of the wind, various city fires, and wailing zombies drifting in through the vent hole above. Mentally she went over the layout of the building - what she and fellow RPD officers knew as the "old station" - the original RPD building. It had served the department's needs for decades, until the recently installed Chief Irons had bought the former city art museum to be renovated as their new home. The old station was three floors tall - a ground floor and two upper floors - and also had two basement levels with an attached parking garage. It had been the parking garage for which she, Kevin, and Harry had been making when their van was mobbed by a horde of zombies after making the next-to-last turn to get there. So much for that way in, she thought grimly. Right now she was on the second floor. As best she could remember, she was probably in the U-shaped hallway that led to the Media Room. If she went to her left and around the turn, there should be a set of double doors that led to the rest of the floor. Once there, she could take the stairs down to ground, then loop back around to the back door on the east side of the building and let Kevin in. It sounded easy enough ... but there was no telling what lay between her and her goal. There was only one way to find out, as Kevin might have said.

Gun drawn but pointed downward, as she had been taught to carry it (and not beside her head like in many a Hollywood movie), Rita carefully approached the turn in the darkened hall. The only illumination came from the occasional overhead set of dim emergency lights. "They must have been on for a while to be so dim," she thought to herself. "Whatever happened here must have happened not long after Harry and I left." As she moved away from the vent, it became so quiet that she could hear the sound of her own breathing. The situation might have scared the average person, but Rita was a fully trained police officer with years of experience. She wasn't quite as well-trained as Kevin, to be sure - what with his military background, his specialized SWAT training, and his recent reassignment to the SPF and all – but she had walked a beat in her day, and knew something about both fear and facing potentially dangerous situations. She knew how to master her own fear and did so.

Just around the turn Rita found two bodies lying on the floor. They were both RPD officers. A quick, cursory examination revealed that both appeared to be dead. Both had the telltale wounds associated with a zombie attack ... and by now Rita knew what that meant. This hallway would very soon be unsafe. They could revive at any moment. She took a few precious moments to hurriedly strip both of the handgun ammo they were carrying on their belts, along with the extra clips from their guns. She had the feeling she might need them before she was done. A short section of hallway and another turn later found her within sight of the double doors ... as well as two more bodies lying on the floor.

Rita never knew if it was bad karma, or the sound of her footsteps or anxious breathing, or what it was that caused all four of the dead policemen to revive at the same time. She was only a couple of feet away from the pair at the second turn when this happened. Instantly her gun was up and she was firing. There wasn't any time for anything else. The first one went down again with three bullets in its head. The second one took the rest of her magazine before it went down. She had one of the spare clips she had just pilfered in her gun and was firing again by the time the other two zombies made the turn. They too went down – and like before, she emptied the clip putting them down. She knew she had only seconds before they might revive again, so she ran to the double doors and tried them. Unlocked! Rita ran through without even looking back, her pistol before her and another loaded clip now in her gun. The last sign of her passage through that darkened hall was the sound of the double doors closing behind her with a click!

The main hallway of the second floor of the RPD building was as dimly lit as the one she had just left. She didn't see anything moving around, and could hear nothing. Rita dashed down the hall, fearing that the zombies in the other hall might revive again and charge through the double doors after her. She soon came to another turn, where there was another policeman's body sitting half-propped up beneath one of the hallway windows. Rita never slowed down to look at it. Right around the turn and to her left was the stairwell door. She made this in a near-sprint, then yanked it open and ran through, gun at the ready and not even bothering to look behind her. Zombies could sometimes be fast, but not that fast, she thought. Even if the one under the window had chosen to revive at that moment, it wouldn't have had time to catch her. It didn't, and stayed where it was in its half-sitting, half-splayed position under the window, as the stairwell door closed and the sound of Rita's running feet faded away.

Rita didn't even try the elevator. She knew that it wouldn't be working with the building's power down. Instead, she took to the stairs. Fortunately, the stairwell proved empty of both zombies and bodies, so she took the stairs two and sometimes three at a time. Within seconds she was at the first floor door – and it was here when she stopped. She already had her hand on the door and was about to turn the handle when she heard it – the sound of moaning and shuffling feet from beyond. She stopped in mid-pose, listening, her heart racing. Yes, no mistaking it – there were live zombies beyond. Rita took a deep breath, then released the handle and stepped back from the door. She took a few precious seconds to recheck the clip in the gun, in order to make sure that it was a full one. She then chambered a round from the clip in her gun, removed the clip, and then put an extra bullet in the clip where the chambered round had been. You weren't supposed to do that under normal circumstances, but these were definitely not normal. The past two days had taught Rita the value of having as much firepower and ammunition at her disposal as possible. Hefting her gun in one hand, she then yanked open the stairwell door with the other and brought the gun to bear on the hallway beyond.

There had been a zombie shambling around in the little alcove formed by the conjunction of the elevator and stairwell doors in the hallway. Had been was the operative phrase here. Rita's first shot - and it was a lucky one - blew its head apart. She darted around the corner to find another one at a T-junction and almost finished turning in the direction of her first shot's sound. She quickly put four bullets into it - two each into its knees to cripple it and make it fall, then two more in its head. Thankfully there were no others. As for the far end of the hall, it was blocked from access by a large security shutter that had been brought down at its near end by the T-junction. This had apparently thwarted whatever intentions the zombie might have had for travel. Rita guessed that the pair might have been trapped inside this end of the hallway whenever the security shutter had been brought down.

Rita now walked over to the corner turn in the hallway, and then examined the switch on the wall that controlled the security shutter. No power, of course – but the shutter had been down whenever the power had failed. It would stay down until either power was restored or a way was found to breach the shutter. She now walked up to the shutter as close as she dared and listened. What she heard were shambling and moaning noises. The hallway beyond was probably full of zombies. It was a good thing that the shutter was down and would stay down – but what if she had to get in there for some reason? Best not to think about it for now. Her job was to let Kevin inside, and she was halfway home. There were only the front lobby and the east side hallway to go.

It was then that it happened. The inside of the front wall of the building just happened to be the same wall as the south wall of the hallway, and both ended at the corner where the shutter switch was located. That was why Rita was able to hear it coming – the sound of a motorcycle racing up the street towards the building. She heard the zombies out there wail at it, and several scream as the bike apparently hit them – then the sounds of a crash as the bike first hit the stairs up to the lobby and then the front glass doors. They shattered with the sounds of a tremendous impact – and with that, Rita found herself running for the door at the base of the T-junction. It opened into a short dogleg hall that made a right turn and came out in the Lobby. Rita was guessing that the driver of that bike was going to need her help, and quickly. All she could do was pray that gravity still worked.

Rita was not a second too soon. The wreck of the motorcycle had completely destroyed the front doors. Rita paid no mind to it for now – her focus was on this new breach in the building's integrity. Once the zombies recovered, they would probably start pouring in through it. She ran for a small panel to the right of the front doors and opened it. Inside was the manual release for the Lobby's front security shutter. She yanked on it – and immediately the heavy security shutter fell down and into place with a hard-hitting thud! The front of the Lobby was now secure again ... or at least as secure as the hallway she had just left. Time now to see about that bike's driver.

Even as Rita turned, she heard a moan from behind her. Thankfully it was a painful human moan, and not the toneless whine of a zombie. She trotted over broken glass to the bike's driver, who now lay crumpled up against the lobby counter just a few feet from her wrecked bike. It was a young woman. That much was obvious both from her body and the long blond hair coming out from under her helmet. She had apparently come off the bike during the crash and had hit the lobby counter at full length, knocking the wind out of her. Rita quickly felt her over for any broken bones. There were none, thank goodness.

"Oooooooohhhhhhhhh ...."

"Hey, you okay? It's all right now. You're inside. You're damn lucky, too. Nothing's broken. How the hell did you manage that?"

"I ... I'm a professional," came the painful reply. With Rita's help, the young woman managed to assume a seated position. She then took off her helmet, revealing a beautiful blue-eyed face with faint freckles. "Elza. Elza Walker. I'm with the university racing team."

"Rita Burnside, RPD. Look, are you going to be all right?"

Elza slowly moved her head around, popping her neck as she did so. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"

"I gotta go let somebody else in. He's trapped out back."

Elza slowly brought up one arm, and then began massaging the back of her neck. "Go. I'll be alright. One thing, though. You got a gun?"

Rita stood there for a second, confused by the question. She then realized that Elza was asking if she had another gun, instead of the one she was carrying. "There should be some in that office behind the lobby counter, and some ammo, too."

"Thanks." Bracing herself, Elza managed to stand up. "I think I'll be all right. You go help your friend."

"Sure." Rita turned and headed for the side door opposite the entrance to the dogleg hall. She stopped and looked back at Elza once she reached it. "You sure you're going to be all right?"

Elza waved her off. "I'll be fine. Go. The zombies are getting restless out there."

"Yeah. See ya." And with that Rita was through the door and gone.

Elza looked after her for a moment. She still ached all over from the crash, and didn't feel like moving around too much. She had been lucky, though – damn lucky. She hadn't been in any condition to bring down that security shutter, even though that had been her plan. If that lady cop, Rita, hadn't been there –

The sounds of pawing and clawing from the other side of the shutter yanked Elza back to reality. She looked ahead to the ruined Lobby doors, and at the security shutter that now blocked them. She calmed herself, as she had been taught to do when learning how to hunt, and then listened carefully to the sounds. "At least half a dozen, and more will probably join them," she said to herself. "I'd better go get that gun while I can, before they break in here."

 

* * * * *

The East Hallway on the ground floor proved to be as much of a challenge to Rita as had been the western one. There were four zombies – two live ones ambling about, one on each end, and two "playing possum" in the middle. Rita put down the first live one with four shots, sprinted down the hall past the two in the floor - one in front of the Locker Room door, and one in front of the basement stairwell door - then emptied her clip on the one in the back door alcove at the other end. It wasn't enough to kill it outright, but it was enough to stagger it - giving Rita the few precious seconds she needed to unlock the back door and yank it open. Kevin had heard the gunfire from outside and already had his pistol out and ready even as he darted through. One shot was all he needed. The zombie's head exploded even as Rita shut and re-locked the back door behind him. The clap and roar from Kevin's gun still echoed in the hallway as Rita came to his side. "Damn, that's loud," Rita said.

"Kimber .45 ACP," Kevin answered, relaxing from his firing position. He showed his handgun to Rita. "Best .45 clone yet made. Captain Denham said I could use my own gun, provided I bought and stocked my own ammo. This is like the old .45s I used to use in the service, save that this is brand new and not just about worn out. Not too many Kimbers out there yet – but there will be, if they keep makin' 'em this good." He glanced at the holstered gun that the body on the floor still had in its gunbelt, and then snorted. "Those nine millimeter plinkers the department uses don't pack enough punch for me – but you know what? I wish I had a ParaOrdinance P14-45 right now, instead of my Kimber. I'd rather have its double-stacked clips with more bullets than a regular .45 clip."

"Well, I suggest you take one of those plinkers anyway," Rita said, as she walked over to the now-headless body and removed its gun from its holster. She then offered it to Kevin. "nine millimeter ammo's probably going to be a lot easier to find."

"The lady's got a point," Kevin said. He took his own pistol and stuck it in his belt behind him, and then took the pistol she offered him. He frowned as he held it up, looking it over. "Damn peashooter. Still, like you said, more of these bullets will be around." He stuck it in his holster, then walked over to the body and removed its gunbelt. "Guess I'll have to wear two holsters from now on," he said, as he removed the holster from the belt. "Can't run around with my own gun stuck in my ass crack, can I?" he said with a grin.

Rita actually laughed. It was the first time she had laughed in what seemed like days. "Oh, Kevin ... oh! That reminds me. I found somebody else alive. Young college girl, Elza Walker. She's from the university. She just crashed her bike through the front lobby."

"So that was what that sound was," Kevin said, as he finished fitting his second holster and adjusting it. "Anyone else?"

"No," Rita said sadly. "Just more zombies. They must have overran the station after Harry and I left with the van to go back for you ... and Marvin ..."

Kevin walked over to Rita and put his arm around her shoulders. "Now don't start that again. I know how you feel, but there's nothing we can do for him anymore. Besides, he was the one who waved us off. If we hadn't left when we did ..."

"I know," Rita said with a half-sob. She brought a hand up to her face and wiped the tears away. "I can't help it, though. It's just the way I am."

"At least it means you're still human," Kevin said. "Hey, let's go see this girl you found." He then added, with a sly smile, "Maybe she's my type."

Rita looked up at him and managed a smile. "You never quit trying, do you?"

Kevin smiled back. "Why should I?" He gave her a small hug, and then let her go. "Proves I'm still human."

"That you are," Rita said. "C'mon. Let's go."

 

* * * * *

It was about the same time that Rita and Kevin were talking in the hallway foyer in front of the east back door, when a certain Elza Walker was finding out that getting out of the Lobby Office wasn't going to be as easy as it had been getting in. She had found the door to the office in the dogleg hall, at the end closest to the Lobby, and it had been unlocked. The office itself was large, with several cluttered desks that would have normally been manned had it not been for the Outbreak. Several bodies, all but one being former police officers, lay sprawled on the floor. Some were intact, some had obvious wounds, some were partially eaten, and the one that was not an officer was... well .... The odor was incredible. Elza was surprised she hadn't noticed it in the Lobby, but perhaps the shock of the wreck had dulled her sense of smell at the time. It was definitely working now, and the reek almost made her gag. That one body – it must have been dead for days. "Perhaps this was the zombie that killed the others," she thought to herself.

The first thing Elza noticed after that was what appeared to be a box of pistol ammunition sitting on the backside of the lobby counter. Farther down across from its end, sitting on the edge of one of the nearby desks, was a pistol. She recognized it instantly as a SiG Sauer P228 nine millimeter pistol. It was a handgun commonly used by both military and law enforcement. The officer to whom it had apparently once belonged was lying on the floor in front of the desk, arm extended, as if he had dropped the gun before he fell. She could probably scrounge more ammunition and extra clips from the bodies, Elza thought to herself – provided she could stand the reek from that one.

The light coming into the office from the Lobby via the emergency lights, along with the slit openings in the security shutter over the ruined front doors, helped to make the overall darkness less oppressive. The moving shadows cast by the zombies pawing at the outside of the closed shutter didn't help matters any, though, and the overall dark blue-black atmosphere was like something out of a bad horror movie. Still, there was plenty enough light so that she could make her way around the office with little trouble. Elza quickly moved to the backside of the lobby counter and took the box of ammo. It had been opened, but all the bullets were still inside. Fifty rounds. It was a start – now for the gun. She put the box of ammo in one of the pockets of her firesuit jacket, and then walked on down to the counter end. To her immediate left was the pistol lying on the desk. As she picked it up, she noticed something glinting on a low counter or cabinet beside a series of three storage lockers lining the back wall. Curious, she made the turn around the corner of the room to pick it up – and that was when it happened. Every body in the room revived at the same time. The intact ones, the not-so-intact ones, and the one that was ... well ... not all there. Two of them were bearing down on her along the lobby counter, cutting off the way she had come in, while the others scattered around the room blocked any other possible route back to the door. Elza was now trapped in an office full of hungry zombies, and she was the only human being in sight.

 

* * * * *

Rita and Kevin heard the gunfire even as they passed the halfway mark in the East Hallway. Without a second thought, moving only as trained police officers can, they both had their pistols drawn and were sprinting for the end of the hallway. Kevin was in the lead, and Rita followed close behind. They were through the door and into the Lobby in less than half a minute. It took only a second for them to see what was happening. Kevin stopped where he was and began shooting across the lobby counter at the zombies closest to Elza, even as Rita ducked and ran to the far end of the counter. She would have headed on to the dogleg hall and the Lobby Office door had it been safe, but there were too many bullets flying, since both Elza and Kevin were shooting. Kevin helped Elza drop the two zombies closest to her with his newly acquired SiG Sauer, and he then helped her drop the rest. All of the zombies were down – but that didn't mean they were all stopped.

Kevin looked at Elza, who only shook her head in reply. The young woman then immediately turned to her right and began shooting at something on the floor. Kevin turned to Rita and nodded. "Go!" he exclaimed. Staying low to keep out of both Elza and Kevin's line of fire, Rita darted down the nearby dogleg hall to the Lobby Office door. She then kicked opened the door and promptly blasted the first two crawling zombies she could see. To the sound of Rita's Beretta was added that of Kevin's new nine millimeter. It was in turn accompanied by the sound of Elza's own nine millimeter firing from inside the office. Having dispatched the only two zombies within her own line of sight, Rita waited until the firing had stopped again. "Clear!" Kevin yelled, and with that Rita charged inside the office, pistol at the ready. By the time she trotted up beside a white-faced Elza, who was still pointing her own pistol at what was left of the head of the nearest formerly crawling zombie, Kevin had already holstered his own pistol and was just coming through the office door to join them.

"Thanks," Elza said. She took a deep breath, then lowered her weapon and looked at the policewoman. "I didn't know they were going to revive like that."

"Sorry about that," Rita said. "I didn't know there were any zombies in the office. If I had, I wouldn't have told you to come back here. Things were a bit different when I was last here in this station."

"You can say that again," Kevin said, as he walked up to join them. "Phee-ww! God, but that one stinks! You mean the zombies hadn't broken in yet?"

"Everyone was still alive when Harry and I left," Rita said. "The zombies must have gotten in somehow not long after. That would explain how this got in here," she said, pointing at the one body in the center aisle between the desks that was partially decomposed. Her nose wrinkled almost involuntarily. "That certainly wasn't here before. No telling how long it's been since it died."

"I can tell you how long," Kevin said, and made an obvious gesture of holding his nose.

Rita shook her head. As for Elza, she stood silently, looking at the both of them. Rita suddenly realized she had forgotten to introduce the young woman. "Oh, Elza? This is Kevin Ryman, RPD. He's the one I went back for."

Elza nodded. "Nice to meet you. Thanks for saving me."

Kevin grinned, and offered a hand. "Any time, babe, any time."

Elza frowned. She made a point of crossing her arms, refusing Kevin's outstretched hand. "Let's get something clear right now, officer. I'm not a babe, or a girl, or a darling, or anything like that. I have a name, and it's Elza. Elza Walker. Got it?

Kevin's jaw dropped. Beside him, Rita couldn't help but giggle. "Sounds good to me," Rita heard herself say. "What about you, Kevin?"

"Uhhhhhhh ... yeah," Kevin said, lowering his hand. He recovered as quickly as he was able. "Well then, Miss Walker, would you mind telling me how you ended up here and why?"

"Easy enough, Mister Ryman," Elza answered. "The zombies attacked while we were evacuating the university. I got out with a group of other students, but we had to run the gauntlet of the zombies outside and in the city itself. The last I saw of the others, their car had plowed straight into a mob of them." She shuddered. "Fortunately I had my bike, and I was able to weave and dodge through the crowd. The evacuation order said one of the places to go was the nearest police station, and that's why I'm here. You were the closest." She snorted. "Maybe I should have tried for the other station."

"That would have been no good," Kevin replied. "We just came from there. The zombies stormed the place right before we got out. We just barely escaped with our necks." He suddenly frowned. "You didn't know they cancelled the evacuation order?"

"How could she?" Rita interjected. She gave Kevin a look, then smiled sadly at Elza. "It's not your fault, hon. There was no way you could have known, what with the phones being out and radio communications spotty at best." She now looked again at Kevin. "The university was supposed to be one of the staging points for the rescue helicopters per the plan. The trolley yard was another, and so were both RPD stations. That was yesterday, though, before everything went FUBAR on us." She looked back at Elza. "We tried to call university security by radio, to let them know, but no one answered. We even tried sending volunteers with the message – but I guess they didn't make it."

Elza shook her head. "Nobody had told us anything for at least two days, not even those Umbrella commando types - or whatever they are. Practically an entire convoy of 'em drove straight by the university a little while ago without even stopping."

"That's weird," Kevin interrupted. "What would Umbrella commandos be doing in town right now?"

"Never mind that," Rita quickly said. "Let her finish." She nodded at Elza. "Go on, hon. You were saying?"

Elza drew a deep breath, and then continued. "Well, when two of their trucks finally pulled in, and one of the professors went up to ask them for help, their leader pulled a gun, told him to shut the hell up, and then shoved him out of the way. When he grabbed the guy to get his attention, the guy shot him. After that, everyone panicked and got out of there any way they could, 'cause it was now pretty obvious that there wasn't going to be any evacuation. We were on our own. I don't know what those dudes were doing there and I still don't know, but I didn't stick around to find out." She paused, and then grimaced. "I'll bet everyone who was at the university is dead by now. We didn't know help wasn't coming and we waited too long to get out. Me? I was lucky – damn lucky."

Elza stopped speaking and looked at the floor. The two RPD officers watched her, knowing that a lot of people had died because of what had happened with the evacuation effort. After a while, Rita spoke. "I'm sorry about your friends, Elza."

"Yeah," Kevin said evenly.

Elza now looked up. "At least my roommate's probably still alive. She left town several days ago, before all of this happened, to look for her brother. He's been missing for a while, and she said she had a lead on where he was. I hope she had the good sense to stay away."

"Who is she?" Rita asked.

"Claire Redfield," Elza answered.

Both RPD officers looked at each other, and then back at Elza. "She doesn't happen to have a brother named Chris, does she?" Kevin asked.

Elza nodded. "The same. RPD STARS."

Kevin let out a low whistle. "Well, now. Imagine that. You know, Chris has been missing ever since he had that big argument with Chief Irons. I wonder –"

"I don't think this is the time to worry about that," Rita pointed out. "First thing we gotta do is take stock of the situation here. After that, we need to find a new way to get the hell outta town."

"New way?" Elza asked.

"We had a SWAT van," Kevin said. "It got wrecked because of the zombies."

Elza forced a smile. "So we're all trapped in here together. Great. Just great." She looked around at the darkened office. "Oh, that reminds me." She pointed down at the glinting object beside the storage lockers. "I was about to get that when our friends here," and with that she waved an arm towards the zombie bodies, "decided to join the party."

Rita reached over and picked up the object. It was a key of normal size and shape. It had a green plastic insert on the tab end, and in it was etched a captial letter S. "Stairwell key?" she queried.

"Could be," Kevin mused. "You didn't need one to get down here, did you?"

"No," Rita said. "The stairwell to the upper floors was unlocked."

"Maybe it's for another stairwell," Elza offered.

"The one to the basement," Rita promptly replied. She looked at Kevin, who nodded. "All right then. Let's gather what we can and move out."

"Have your gun ready, just in case," Kevin added. He had been reloading both of his pistols while they had talked, and now held his own newly acquired SiG Sauer in his gun hand. "We don't know if any of these suckers are going to revive again."

Elza looked at the zombie bodies, and her face wrinkled in disgust. "Are you suggesting we do what I think you're suggesting?"

"Uh-huh, Miss Walker," Kevin said with a wry smile. "Too much for you?"

Elza glared at him for a moment, then knelt down and began removing the ammo pouch from the belt on the body directly in front of them. "If I can strip and gut a dead deer by myself, Mister Ryman, then I can surely do this. Shall we get started?"

All Kevin could do was stare at her again. Beside him, Rita chuckled.

 

* * * * *

"We both grew up in the country just outside of town," Elza was saying, as the three of them walked down the East Hallway towards the basement stairwell door. Elza and Rita were in front, talking together, while Kevin followed and listened from behind. "Our farms were practically next door, and both Claire and I were tomboys. We did everything together - playing, fishing, hunting, dating. Oh, there's some stories I could tell there," she grinned, as they neared the door.

"I'm surprised Chris never mentioned you," Rita said, as she took the green-tabbed key and inserted it into the stairwell door lock.

"Why should he?" Elza said. "I was his sister's best friend – not his." She smiled wryly. "You know what? I once fantasized about dating Chris, when I was younger. That was before he went into the service, though, and met that other woman."

"Jill Valentine," Kevin offered. Both of the women looked back at him. "Yeah, they had a thing going for a while," he continued, "or so I'm told, but they called it off. Said it interfered too much with their work. Now they're just good friends."

"Yeah, right," Elza said. "So they say. The only good male friends I ever had were either gay or waiting for their chance."

Rita tried the lock. It clicked, and the knob turned. The door could now be opened. "Sounds to me like you haven't lived long enough," she said. "Who wants to be the first inside?"

"There's a joke there--" Kevin began, but an appropriately placed elbow from Rita silenced him.

"Mind your manners, Kevin. There are ladies present, you know."

Kevin was the first through the stairwell door. Gun drawn, he examined both the landing and the first flight of stairs. The dim emergency lighting didn't show much, but he saw no strange shapes and no movement below. "Seems all clear," he called back to them. "Come on in. Lighting's just as bad as it is out there, though. Be careful." Rita and Elza quickly followed through the door, and then the trio began carefully making their way down the stairs.

"Where should we go first, Rita?" Kevin said. "You've been with the RPD longer than I have. You know the layout better."

"All the way down," Rita responded without hesitation. "That's where the keybox for the vehicle keys are located – above the night watchman's desk at the bottom of the stairwell. After that, we can go up to the Parking Garage, and see if there are any vehicles left that are still usable."

"Isn't that where the Morgue is, too?" Kevin quipped.

"Shut up," Rita responded. "Now's not the time for any of your jokes, Kevin. We've had enough of those already."

"Just pointing it out," Kevin said, winking back at Elza. He knew if he had been within arm's reach, she probably would have slapped him or something. Instead, all she did was give him a nasty smile in reply.

It was not long before they reached the bottom of the stairs. The trio now stood in front of the keybox – the locked keybox, with no key to open it to be found. "Damn," Rita said aloud. "I didn't expect that."

"Maybe it happened while you were gone, before we came back," Kevin offered.

Rita examined the lock. "Could be. A lot seems to have happened in here during that time." She looked at Kevin. "Well, since it wasn't in the desk, any idea where the key might be?"

"Not right off," Kevin said, "but I'll bet you can find some bolt cutters or something in the Boiler Room. Isn't that where the custodians kept all of their tools?"

"That's a thought," Elza added.

"Why thank you, Captain Obvious," Kevin said.

"Kevin ...." Rita said in a warning tone.

"Okay, okay," Kevin said, holding up his hands. "I'm sorry."

Elza didn't appreciate Kevin's remark one bit, but said nothing. She had to bite her lower lip in order to keep from snapping back a curt reply. All she was trying to do was be helpful, in spite of Kevin's apparent attitude towards her. She liked Rita, but she didn't like him. He reminded her too much of the other chauvinistic types she had frequently been forced to deal with - athletes, would-be playboys, and so on - and all because of her own good looks. What was it about a good-looking young woman that seemed to bring out the worst in a man, anyway? That thought she kept to herself.

Rita couldn't help but notice Elza's restraint. If she had been in Elza's shoes - and that meant she wouldn't have been wearing a badge - she probably would have given Kevin a right cross to the jaw. There were times when Kevin could just get on a person's nerves - especially those of an attractive woman - and he actually seemed to enjoy them, too. There was another side to Kevin, though, which Elza had not yet seen. It was the side that had put a comforting arm around Rita after Marvin's apparent death, and then Harry's very real one. It was the side that had made him a regular contributor to police charities, the one that had made him always have candy on him for kids whenever he had walked a beat in his early days on the force. Rita sincerely hoped Elza would get the chance to see that other side of Kevin before all of this was over ... otherwise ... it was going to be a very trying time ahead.

"Good idea about the bolt cutters," Rita said aloud. "Let's try the Boiler Room."

The main hall to the RPD's second level basement was as dark and dimly lit as all the others had been. The trio moved cautiously down its full length towards the Boiler Room, weapons drawn and at the ready. Kevin was in front and Elza in the middle, while Rita guarded their rear. They could hear the sounds of zombies moving about, but couldn't tell from exactly where they were coming. The acoustics of the underground hallway made them sound like they were coming from everywhere, and that didn't help the general tension in any way.

The source of the sounds only became clear once they reached the halfway mark of the hall. At that point there was a T-junction, with a branch hallway leading off to their left. Not far down the branch was a closed security shutter, and it was from behind this that the zombie noises were coming. There was a matching control panel on the wall to the right of the shutter, but somebody had removed its cover and apparently had a go at the wiring. The wiring appeared to have been cut and then re-spliced, with the cut ends stripped and then twisted back together in order to complete the circuit. The three examined the tampered switch without touching it, then looked at each other.

"I wouldn't mess with it," Kevin advised. "It's a good bet that shutter is what's keeping this hallway clear."

"I wonder how the zombies got back there in the first place?" Elza said.

Rita was quick to reply before Kevin could say a word. "Not that it matters, Elza. They can't get out, and that's that. C'mon, guys. Let's leave it for now."

The three resumed their slow and deliberate pace towards the end of the hall. There was another left-hand turn, and then the double doors of the Boiler Room loomed before them. Kevin walked up to them and tried the handles. "Damnit!" he exclaimed. "They're locked." He looked back at the two women. "What now?"

Elza managed a wry smile. "Perhaps you could break them down?"

Kevin started to say something nasty in reply, but caught Rita's warning gaze. He held it in check and said something else instead. "I'd break my shoulder long before that door gave way. No normal person is going to break through a reinforced steel door like that, Miss Walker." He put his hands on his hips and sighed. "There's gotta be a key somewhere."

"I'll bet it's locked up with the others," Rita suggested.

"Oh, terrific," Kevin said. "We need a key to unlock the keybox, and the key we need to unlock this door is probably locked inside the keybox." He sighed again, and removed his hands from his hips. One now stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Any bright ideas, anyone? 'Cause I'm fresh out."

"What's at the other end of the hall?" Elza asked.

"The Cell Bay," Rita replied automatically. "A guard desk and six cells. The cells are probably full of zombies by now. They'll all probably be locked, so they won't be able to do anything to us. There won't be anything in them we need, though. It's a jail, after all."

"What about the guard desk?" Elza asked. "Could there be some keys or something inside?"

"Possibly ..." Kevin mused aloud. "There's a better chance of something being in there than there would be in the Morgue."

"Where's the Morgue?"

Kevin smiled. "On the other side of that security shutter with all of those zombies behind it."

"Oh." Elza grimaced. "Looks like we don't have too many options, do we?"

"Not unless we want to go back upstairs, and see what we can find on the upper floors, or the upper basement level," Rita replied. "I get the feeling we're not going to do much better on them, either."

"This is all like some puzzle or series of puzzles in a videogame," Elza said thoughtfully. "Figure out the pieces you need, where they go, and in what order they have to be placed, and everything works out. Otherwise, it's just a jumbled mess."

"I got news for you," Kevin quipped. "This isn't a videogame. It's real life, and it's happening right now."

"Well, I can see her point if you can't, Kevin," Rita quickly interjected. "Elza's right about this, at least. This station is now in a jumbled mess. Looks like we're going to have to unjumble it if we're going to survive."

"All right," Kevin said. "That I'll give you." He turned to look at Elza. "Well now, Miss Walker," he said in a formal and overly polite manner, "let's let you decide. What do we do next? Where do we go from here?"

Elza stared at the RPD officer for a moment. Beside him, she could see that Rita was irked at him and was trying - and failing - to hide it. She didn't care very much for Kevin's sarcastic attitude towards her, one that had started as soon as she had rebuffed his advances. "Now is not the time for this kind of crap," she growled to herself. "All I can do is deal with this man-child as best I can. Looks like I'm gonna be stuck with him for a while." Her decision made, she relaxed ... and then smiled her broadest smile at him. Her response was one simple word. "Nowhere."

"Huh?" Kevin was taken aback. It was an answer he hadn't expected.

"I said, nowhere," Elza said, a bit more firmly this time. "Look, we're already down here. Let's do everything we can on this floor before we move on."

Behind Kevin, Elza could see Rita nod and smile at her. As for him, he almost did a classic double-take, but caught himself just in time. He gave her a grin that might have been almost patronizing. "Well, all right then. You know, of course, that means dealing with those zombies behind that shutter."

"I know that," Elza responded matter-of-factly. "I'll risk the Cell Bay first, though. At least we don't have to let out any zombies in there." She turned and began walking back down the hallway, but stopped a few paces away from the turn. She smiled back at Kevin. "Well? Aren't you coming? Or am I the only one who has a pair down here?"

If looks could have killed, then Kevin would have dropped Elza that instant. Instead, he growled something in reply that sounded almost like, "Coming," and began to follow her. Close behind him was Rita, grinning broadly and already holding her gun in a walking carry. She was doing her best not to laugh out loud – and this time, she succeeded.

\----------------------------

Chapter 2 - Reconnoiter

 

"It's locked."

"Well, duh. It's a jail."

"Knock it off, Kevin." Rita looked at Elza, who was glaring angrily at Kevin. He just stood there with his typical knowing smirk, the one with which Rita had long ago become all too familiar. She shook her head. "You can't expect a civvie to know something like that. Besides – did you notice that the lock still has power?"

"Huh?" Kevin looked perplexed, but Elza was already examining the door's electronic lock control. "Yeah, you're right, Rita." She then looked up. "Probably powered off of the same circuit as these emergency lights."

"That's right," Rita remembered. "I think it was so they could get into the Cell Bay and evacuate the prisoners in the event of an emergency."

Elza turned away from the lock to look at her. "Looks like it opens in one of three ways: a numeric keypad, a card reader slot, and a mike pickup for voice recognition."

"That's not like the locks at the new station." Kevin had by now regained his composure. The cocksure smirk at Elza's earlier discomfiture was gone, however, it had been replaced by a furrowed brow. "The ones over there are card activated only. Chief Irons said these old locks were too complicated, because with more than one way to unlock them they weren't as secure."

"Do you use the same card keys at both stations?" Elza asked.

Both officers looked at her for a moment, and then the import of her question hit them. Rita's eyebrows went up. "Yes," she replied. "We use the same software on both,"

"Hang on," Kevin said. He was already fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. He quickly searched through it, and then pulled out an official-looking plastic card about the size of a credit card. Along one edge ran a long purple stripe. "Master keycard for the new station. Maybe it'll work here."

"I thought only STARS members got those," Rita said. She had one eyebrow raised and was giving Kevin a questioning look.

"Yeah ... well ... uhmmm ...." Kevin stammered. "Look, let's see if it works, okay?" He swiped it in the lock. Nothing happened. Perplexed, he tried again – and again – and again. Still nothing.

"Bet it's not been activated," Rita said. She gave Kevin a knowing look. "Maria got it for you, didn't she?"

"Who's Maria?" Elza asked. There was definitely something going on here about which she didn't have a clue.

"Fellow officer," Rita answered quickly. "She works in Records. So that's why you've been so sweet to her lately." She smiled sadly. "I think she figured it out, though. She was gonna make you come back to her a second time – right?"

Kevin looked like as if he had been a kid caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. "Uhhhh ...."

"Never mind," Rita said quickly. "It obviously doesn't work." She turned to Elza. "Well, it was a good idea, anyway. Looks like we're not getting into the Cell Bay just yet."

"You know what that leaves, don't you?" Elza answered.

"Uh-huh," Rita said. There was a definite note of apprehension in her voice as she turned to Kevin. "Kevin, you're better trained for this kind of situation than I am. What do you think we should do?"

By now, Kevin had recovered from his earlier embarrassment. Much to his credit, he was all business. "One of us springs the door while the other two stand in front, as far back as we can, and mow down the zombies as they pour out."

"I wouldn't want to be the one to have to open that door," Elza said grimly. "You're going to have to get within reach of that shutter to do it."

"Maybe we can add a bit of reach," Rita said thoughtfully. She reached for her gunbelt, then grasped and pulled out her nightstick. "What do you think?" she asked, holding it before her.

Kevin looked at it for a moment, and then smiled. It was not his usual self-satisfied smirk, but an honest smile at a good idea realized. "Yeah ... I think it just might work, Rita."

* * * * *

The three Raccoon City Outbreak survivors – two police officers and a young woman in a red-and-white racing firesuit – stood in front of the closed security shutter in the old RPD's basement. Rita was pressed against the wall to the right, her gun in one hand and her nightstick in another. She had wedged the far end of the nightstick in the wall socket of the sabotaged shutter switch, with its tip under the cut and re-spliced wire. To her left and farther back were both Elza and Kevin. They were both in firing stances, squarely in the center of the hallway junction, with their pistols pointed at the shutter ... and the things that shuffled about behind it.

"Ready when you are, Kevin," Rita said. Her fingers tensed in their grip around the nightstick.

"Get ready to jump back," Kevin said, then turned and nodded at Elza. "Ready?"

She didn't even look at him. "Ready." Both her eyes and attention remained firmly fixed on the shutter.

Kevin nodded, then faced the shutter himself. "On the count of three then ... one ... two ... THREE!"

Rita yanked up hard on the nightstick, breaking the splice in the wire. Almost instantaneously she jinked backwards, her gun hand coming up almost automatically. All three human had their pistols aimed and ready, waiting for ... nothing.

Nothing happened.

Elza laughed. "Stupid us. The power's out. This shutter must not be on the same emergency circuit as the Cell Bay lock." She walked up and rapped her knuckles on the shutter. Immediately there was a pounding and clawing sound on the other side, accompanied by undead wails and moans, but the shutter did not so much as budge. She looked back at the two police officers and sighed. "Anyone know how to open this thing manually?"

Kevin walked up to the opened panel and took a look. "Uh-huh ..." he said, "I see." He reached to the left side of the hole and pulled at an unseen catch. The wall panel beside the switch popped off and hit the floor with a clatter, revealing a motor assembly. Near the center of the motor was a large circular extrusion about two inches in diameter, with a inset hex-shaped indentation that was about an inch or two deep. "Hullo, what do we have here?" he said, looking at the motor.

The other two quickly trotted up, ignoring the clamor and banging behind the closed shutter. They were only a few feet away from it, but the shutter obviously wasn't going anywhere. They were safe for now. The two women examined Kevin's discovery. "Is that the motor to raise and lower the shutter?"

"Yep," Kevin said.

"No way to get at the chain that actually moves the shutter, is there?" asked Elza.

"Nope," said Kevin. He pointed to a shield assembly attached to the upper part of the motor close to the extrusion, one that ran up into the wall. "It's covered. We'd need tools to get that off, and guess where they are?"

"I see," Elza said. She raised a forefinger to her lips, as if in thought, then pointed to the hex-holed extrusion. "What about that? I'll bet it's the motor shaft. If we could find something to fit into that hole and turn it, we could raise the shutter manually."

"Maybe," Kevin said, "but you're going to need a fair-sized crank handle or round handle with a hex key on one end to do it, and I've give you one guess where that is."

"Not necessarily," said Rita. "There might be one on the roof with the generator supplies, or even somewhere else in the building. If I were in charge here, I'd keep more than one of those things around, and somewhere you could get to them in a hurry in an emergency." She sighed. "Unfortunately, I've spent most of my time with the RPD over at the new station. How about you, Kevin?"

Kevin shrugged his shoulders. "I'm still not entirely familiar with the place. I've only been with the SPF for two months, you know. Your guess is as good as mine."

"SPF?" Elza asked.

"Special Police Force," Kevin said. "It's the name Chief Irons gave our new SWAT outfit."

"After he all but disbanded STARS, our old one," Rita added, with a somewhat caustic note to her voice.

Elza wondered at Rita's last remark, but made no comment. She said instead, "Maybe we'd better keep both options open, you know? Restoring power and looking for that crank handle, just in case we can't?"

Kevin thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Good idea. That'll be one more thing we can add to our list of items to find."

"Along with the card key to the Cell Bay and the key to the Boiler Room," Rita chimed in.

Kevin chuckled. "I get the feeling that this list is going to get a lot longer before we leave."

"I'm sure it will," Elza said. "Just like in those videogames."

Kevin shot her a cross look, but said nothing.

* * * * *

The three of them returned to the first floor, traversing it from east to west as they left the East Stairwell and took the shortest route across to the West Stairwell, leading to the upper floors. This had meant retracing their steps back to the Lobby, and from there backtracking Rita's earlier route down from the roof. The zombies in the first floor East Hallway had revived by now, but this had been expected. Kevin had kicked open the door and come out firing, with Rita and Elza close behind and firing as well. All four of the zombies had been dropped before they knew what had hit them. The Lobby had still been clear, and there had been neither sound nor movement from the Lobby Office. They had bypassed it, going instead through the side door to the West Hallway. It too was empty, save for the bodies of the two zombies Rita had dispatched earlier on her run down from the second floor. Kevin paused for a moment at the headless one in the rear alcove, then turned and grinned at Rita. "Nice work," he said. "At least these little toy nine millimeters are good for something – occasionally."

Rita grimaced. "You're sick, Kevin. Besides, it was a lucky shot."

"I don't think so," said Elza. She had trotted over to the body by the closed hallway shutter for a closer look. "Excellent shot placement," she said, nodding in approval at the shot pattern, then looked up at her. "Were you moving when you did this? You're good, Rita – damn good."

Rita blushed. "Well, I had a lot of marksman's training back when I was working as a deputy sherrif in Memphis, and I've kept it up ever since. How 'bout you?"

Elza sounded nonchalant. "I'm the number one shot on the university rifle team."

"Gawd ..." Rita said admiringly. "Then I'll take what you said as a complement."

Elza shrugged. "I'm a country girl, remember? I grew up with guns. I bagged my first deer before I went out on my first date. There was also all that training I got with Claire from her brother Chris. He taught me to handle just about every kind of pistol and rifle out there, as well as some of the heavier stuff." She then stopped and looked at Kevin. "Just don't expect me to go lugging around any M-60 machine guns like Rambo, though. I'm not that strong or stupid. Besides, the way they do it in the movies is all wrong."

Kevin chuckled. "Ahhh, so you have been properly trained. That's good to know. I'd rather have a civvie at my back who actually knows what she's doing when the shit hits the fan, rather than some greenhorn who never fired anything heavier than a BB gun."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Elza said, walking over to the stairwell door. She opened it, then looked at the other two. "Coming?"

The three had just entered the West Stairwell when Kevin stopped. "Hey ladies?" he said. "I think we can cover a lot more ground in less time if we split up."

Rita looked worried. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

"No," Kevin admitted, "but how long do you want to stay in Raccoon City?"

"No longer than I can help it," Rita admitted, "but like the old saying goes, there's strength in numbers."

"That's true," Kevin said, then gave both of the women a hard look, "but even so, I haven't seen anything yet that none of us, and that includes you, Miss Walker, can't handle. As long as we're careful, and don't let those zombies get the jump on us or gang up on us, I think we'll be all right. You did pretty well all by yourself earlier – didn't you, Rita?"

Rita actually blushed. "Yeah ... I guess I did."

Kevin smiled. "That's my girl."

"You wish," Rita shot back, but she was smiling, too. "Don't forget, I had you pegged back when you first came here, Mister Ryman."

Kevin made a display of exaggerated sorrow. "And more's the pity for you, Mrs. Burnside."

Elza's right eyebrow shot up at that last statement. "Mrs? I didn't know you were married, Rita."

The smile left Rita's face at once. "I was. Been divorced three years now."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Elza quickly said.

Rita made a show of smiling again, and put her hand on Elza's arm. "Don't worry about it. Turned out I had made a bad choice for a husband, and I didn't realize it until after I had married the creep. Once it all fell apart, I moved up here so I could start over. Thought it was the best decision I ever made ..." and with that she paused, looking around at the darkened stairwell. "Until now, that is." She suddenly drew herself up, and abruptly changed the subject. "Anyway, thanks for the complement, Kevin." She looked again at Elza. "I used to be a beat cop, you know. Crooks were always underestimating me due to my small size. I got taught well at the police academy, though, and I've also learned a thing or two since then." She now looked thoughtful. "You said you've had weapons training with Chris Redfield?"

"Yes," said Elza, "although I've never really had to put any of it to the test until now."

"Well," Kevin said, "as long as you don't let yourself get cornered like you did in the Lobby Office, you should be all right."

Elza started to say something, but didn't. Instead, she looked Kevin in the eye for a few seconds, then slowly nodded. "You're right, Mr. Ryman. I did let myself walk straight into that one. I'll be more careful next time."

Kevin nodded in reply. "That's good. We're all going to have to be on our toes if going solo is going to work, because one slip will be fatal. There won't be any second chances. Now – who wants which floor? We've got the upper basement level, the first floor, the second floor, and the third floor and roof. Four floors, three of us."

"And we've already pretty much explored all of the first floor that we can get to," Rita added, "so you can scratch that one off. It's too bad I didn't have time to search the second floor more thoroughly when I was up there earlier."

"Sounds to me like we have a volunteer for the second floor," Kevin said.

"But--!" Rita exclaimed, then checked herself. "Okay. May as well."

"Good," Kevin said. He now looked at Elza. "Upper basement, or third floor and roof? Your pick."

Elza thought a moment. "I think ... I'll take the third floor and roof. That way I can deal with the generator if It's up there instead of down in the basement, and that'll help you two on the lower floors."

"It is," Kevin said. "Sounds good to me. That leaves me the upper basement. Once I'm done there, Rita, I'll come up and check on you. If you're already done there, I'll move on up and join you ladies upstairs. Everyone check your weapons."

All three simultaneously pulled their nine-millimeter pistols and checked them, making sure each had a round chambered and a full ammo clip at the ready. They then looked at each other.

"Don't bother if you hear gunfire," Kevin advised, "but if you do get into real trouble, yell as loud as you can for as long as you can. Don't expect help anytime soon, though. It'll take any of us a few minutes to reach anyone who's in a fix, and by the time we do--"

"--we'll probably be dead," Elza finished for him. "At least those yells can serve as a warning to the others."

"I don't plan on ever having to yell or scream for any reason," Rita said curtly. Both Kevin and Elza smiled as she marched past them to the foot of the stairs. "Well, I guess this is it," she added, then stopped and looked at Elza. "Coming?"

"Coming," Elza said. She looked at Kevin, started to say something, stopped, then started again. She spoke in a low yet firm tone. "Good luck, Mr. Ryman."

Kevin nodded. "Same to you, Miss Walker."

* * * * *

Kevin watched as the two ladies ascended the stairs towards their respective floors. As soon as they had made the first turn upward, he headed back to the other stairwell. He didn't feel like any more small talk. It was time to start their reconnoiter of the RPD building – time to unsnarl the mess here, get everything they needed, then get the hell as soon as possible. He didn't cherish any false hopes about of what was ultimately going to happen to Raccoon City, once the federal government finally got its act together. He just didn't want to be within a hundred miles if he could help it, once what he was sure they were going to do finally went down.

Rita had also been wished good luck by Elza at the second floor landing, before the young biker moved up to the third floor. She now found herself slowly walking through the U-shaped hallway that connected the second floor stairwell and elevator alcove to the main hallway, pistol in hand and poised in a walking carry. Now that she had the time to take in her surroundings, instead of running through them as fast as she could, she noted just how much of a mess things were. There were assorted papers and other flotsam everywhere on the floor, with the occasional upturned piece of furniture to break up the scenery somewhat. Some of the windows she now walked beside had one or more spiderburst cracks, although none were actually broken out. It was as if something had been trying to get into the building, she thought to herself. She felt her fears begin to rise and quickly subdued them. There was still a long way to go and a lot to do, but she had already been through here once before. She could do it again if need be, and it was "need be," she joked to herself.

The hallway ended in a single fire door. To her right were assorted flotsam and two vending machines. One had been overturned - how she could hardly imagine - and effectively pinned its broken mate to the wall. On the opposite wall was a long bloody smear ending at the handle for the door, and it was also covered in blood. She examined the trail of red up close. "This has been dry for a while," she muttered. "Not good, Rita. Not good at all. How could you not have noticed this earlier?"

Rita kicked the fire door open and popped into the second floor main hallway in a firing crouch, sweeping the hallway in both directions. Nothing responded. All was still and silent. The hallway to her left appeared to be clear. To her right, the body of the dead officer she had seen on her earlier passage was still propped beneath the front window right next to the corner of the hall. This time, she saw that the trail of blood that had apparently started in the stairwell hall extended into the main hallway, growing larger and now with splotches of blood on the floor, until it ended at the body beneath the window. Rita resumed her walking carry and then moved closer to the body, so she could get a good look at it. The emergency lights on this floor were as dim as on all the rest, but enough ambient light was coming in through the front windows to brighten things up considerably. What she saw made her gasp involuntarily. The poor man had apparently been pecked to death by a large flock of birds. There were peck holes, beak tears, and claw marks all over his arms, upper body, and head. Both of his eyes had also been put out. Rita shrank back from that horrible sight ... and found herself looking out the broken window directly above the body. Most of the glass was out, but all of what was missing was scattered about in pieces and shards underneath the body before her. She could hear the night sounds outside, which she hadn't noticed before, and could now see what little wind there was moving what remained of the blood-stained curtains. She could also hear the cawing of a crow. It didn't seem to be close, and yet it didn't seem to be that far away, either.

"Shit," Rita growled. "We got more than zombies to deal with."

* * * * *

Kevin found the upper basement just as dark as had been the lower one. He would not have been able to see at all, save for the faint glow caused by the emergency lights. As it was, as it had been elsewhere in the building (save on the first floor and only in those of its areas with windows), the shadows were deep and visibility was quite limited. Kevin found that he couldn't even see past the side turn to the Firing Range halfway down the main hallway. Beyond that, just as far from that junction as was he and the stairwell door, was the door to the Parking Garage's Service Bay. It was down there, somewhere in that black murk, that he knew full well – but there was no way to tell by sight alone what else was down there by it. The emergency lights apparently didn't work down there, and it was just too dark to see.

It was due to that near-darkness in which Kevin now found himself that he first heard, rather than saw, the threat coming at him from the turn behind the left of the stairwell door. He immediately wheeled and fired three times at the sound. Three near-instantaneous flesh-sounding splats and a toneless whine cut off by a half-choked gurgle told him he had hit his target. Kevin then lowered his shoulder and charged around the corner. He hit the zombie square, knocking it back down the hall. He heard it hit the floor, along with the sound of its head hitting metal and the sharp crack of its neck breaking. It had been knocked back into the base of the door to the Kennels, whose solid unyielding metal had delivered the undead thing's coup de grace.

Kevin heard more sounds coming at him down the full length of the other end of the long and dark hallway. By now, his eyes had almost adjusted to the lack of light, and he could make out the edges of the section of the hall where he was now situated. It would have been long and straight save for the stairwell, which it had to bend around before continuing in another straight stretch - this one considerably shorter - before reaching the door to the Kennels. The bend in the hall caused by the turn around the stairwell was what had aided the first zombie in its failed ambush. Kevin would now use that same turn to his advantage. He assumed a firing stance and waited. It took a bit - zombies weren't all that fast unless they smelled blood, and then they moved like mad dogs on the attack - but soon enough zombies began to shamble and stagger around the bend in the hall. Kevin picked them off as they came, taking all but one down with a carefully placed head shot. He picked them off with his nine-millimeter, saving his Kimber and its limited ammo for later – for sometime when its heavier bite was truly needed. The only one he missed the first time around he quickly crippled with shots to its knees, then finished it off at his leisure. By the time it was all over, the bodies of four more zombies had joined the first one at that deadly turn. All was silence now, save for the sounds of Kevin's own breathing and the beating of his heart throbbing in his ears. The basement hallway was now apparently clear.

As Kevin reloaded, there was no doubt in his mind as to how he was going to proceed. On this particular level and from where he was standing, the Kennels were directly at his back. Around the turn and at the far end of the longer part of the main hall was the door to the Parking Garage's Service Bay – where RPD vehicles needing to be worked on or serviced were kept. About halfway down that long hallway was another T-junction, with a short side hallway branching off to the left. It had only two doors, and came to an abrupt end at the turn for the second. The first door was the building's Armory, and the second (the one where the hall ended) opened into the Firing Range. Both the Armory and Parking Garage doors had electronic locks. Neither one was on an emergency circuit like the Cell Bay door had been, so they couldn't be opened until power was restored. That left only two options for Kevin to explore: the Kennels and the Firing Range.

Kevin did not want to visit the Kennels. His memories were still fresh and painful of the cruel fate of Tony Wilson, the K-9 handler at the new RPD station they had evacuated only a short time before. He had been eaten alive by his own infected Dobermans. Kevin instead chose to search the Firing Range first and save the Kennels for last. The other rooms would have to keep until power was restored and their locks could function again.

Kevin made his way carefully around the turn, with its piled zombie bodies, and down the long hall towards the T-junction. He had kept his eye on the body pile the whole time he had been near it, for he was already too used to zombies "playing possum" on him. Nothing happened, though. Either they were finally and truly dead, or whatever was keeping them animated had not yet regenerated them enough to make them mobile again. He made the turn and started down the long hall, eyes straining in the dim light and listening for anything that might warn of any kind of foe. Nothing happened, and he made the T-junction without incident. He noted the presence of the heavily reinforced Armory door but otherwise didn't bother with it. Instead, he moved on down the short side hall to the door of the Firing Range, opened it, and went inside. Fortunately, there was nothing in there to challenge his entrance.

Aside from the SPF Office on the second floor, the Firing Range was about the only part of the old RPD building with which he was familiar. It was an old friend, for he had used it on more than one occasion in recent times to sharpen his own weapons skills. Despite the gloom caused by the emergency lights, it looked pretty much the same as it always had. It had four large booths and corresponding target tracks. There had once been eight narrow ones, he recalled, but a recent remodeling had changed that. Had there been enough light, he knew could have looked at the mismatched pattern in the floor and ceiling tiles that still testified to the earlier arrangement. Immediately to his left, not far from the door, was the barred window to the Armory. This was for signing out of various kinds of weapons from the duty officer usually assigned in there, along with their required ammo, for use on the Firing Range proper. He noted the familiar storage cabinets and shelving units in the back corner, holding various kinds of range-related equipment – ear protectors, weapon cleaning kits, extra paper targets, and so on. There was also the shotgun lying on the second shelf on one of the – wait! Shotgun?! Yes, there it was! There was no mistaking its shape. It was a standard police-issue Remington 870 riot shotgun, with synthetic pistol grips and black barrel stock, lying at an angle on the second shelf of the shelving unit along the far wall. It had no sling, so as not to get in the way of any user on the range, and it looked as if it had been left there. It should have never been left on that shelf in the first place, under normal circumstances. It wouldn't have been, either - Kevin's responsibility at that point would have been to return it to the duty officer in the Armory - but these were not normal circumstances. It had apparently been left where it was in the confusion of the Outbreak, Kevin guessed. He wondered if it was still loaded. He hoped it was. It would make a nice addition to his personal arsenal, even without the shoulder sling. There were ways to get around that problem, provided he could find the right stuff for Macguyvering a sling. With that in mind, his eyes now having fully adjusted to what light there was, Kevin quickly crossed the back of the Firing Range behind the booths, and headed straight for the shelving unit containing the shotgun.

He was halfway to the shotgun when the barking started. From the corner of his right eye, he spotted a large wall vent high up and to the right of the storage cabinet that was his target. It probably connected to the Kennels, he realized, and that explained why he heard barking. Not a problem. It was too high up for any dog to jump up and reach. He kept going. The barking intensified the closer he got to the storage cabinet, though, punctuated by sharp growls, fierce whining, and a peculiar clawing and scampering sound. He was within two paces of his prize when the unexpected happened. There was a bang and a crash from inside the vent, and a split-second later a bang and a crash on this side of it. The vent flew open with that crash, and what had been a K-9 German Shepherd police dog half-jumped, half-fell out of the vent right beside Kevin. He jumped back instinctively, pistol already up and aimed at the dog, and it was a good thing, too. As soon as it found its footing it leaped at him, all teeth and snarls. Kevin's first shot knocked it back and the second knocked it down, but by then a second K-9 had also popped through the vent and joined the fray. Both were obviously infected. They weren't in much better shape than Tony's Dobermans back at the new RPD station, but they apparently still had their animal cunning and instinct – and it seemed that their infection had somehow augmented those. It was no contest, and Kevin knew it. Even as he heard the sounds of a third dog in the vent, Kevin was already turning and running for the Firing Range door.

He almost didn't make it. The second infected K-9 stayed on his heels all the way across the room. Somehow it seemed to sense that Kevin would have to stop to open the door, and it leapt at him at precisely that moment. Kevin had anticipated this, though, and changed pistols even as he fled across the room. For all of its effort, the infected dog got nothing but a blast from Kevin's Kimber full in its face. Both its bark and bite were far worse than the infected dog's – and in its case, its bite was definitely fatal. The impact of both the dog's leap and that of the solid metal .45 ACP slug slamming through its upper jaw at point-blank range was such that its body was twisted sideways and spun off to one side. This revealed that the third infected K-9 had just cleared the vent and was heading for Kevin at a dead run. By now, however, he had the door open and was already halfway through. He yanked it shut behind him – and a second or two later heard a resounding thud! and a yelp as his foe caught nothing but solid steel.

Kevin remained poised in a firing stance for a few seconds just outside the Firing Range door, then slowly relaxed. The door would hold them, it seemed, despite repeated thuds, yelps, whines, and growls from the other side. He stood straight, then forced himself to relax, stepping over to and leaning against the wall of the hall opposite the door. "Didn't see that coming," he muttered ... and then grinned. "I wonder how Captain Obvious would have handled that?!" He began to chuckle, but suddenly cut it short with a curse. "Shit! I left the damn shotgun in there!"

Kevin looked across the short hall at the Firing Range door, which still occasionally shook and rattled as the infected K-9s on the other side tried in vain to break through. "Well," he finally sighed, "it'll have to keep ... and here's hoping I don't have to repeat that performance anytime soon."

* * * * *

Elza was alone in the main hallway of the RPD's third floor, having just entered through the stairwell hall fire door. The stairwell hall itself had been empty, save for the tossed papers and half-tumbled chairs and other pieces of furniture she was by now beginning to expect. There had been another door in there, immediately to the left of the fire door, but it had been locked. A sign on it had read CHIEF'S OFFICE/PLEASE USE OTHER DOOR. That had left only the fire door to the third floor main hallway, so with great caution she had opened it and stepped through.

As far as she could tell, given the dim emergency lighting, the hallway was empty in both directions. She stood still for a minute or so, as she had in the stairwell hall, listening for any sounds and giving her eyes time to adjust to the near-darkness. It was even darker in here than it had been in the stairwell hall. At least it had a window, though – right in the middle of the south end of the hall, although it was dark outside and the intermittent cloud cover broke up what little moonshine there was. Even so, she probably wasn't as much in the dark as Kevin was down in the basement, she mused. In addition, there was not a sound to be heard save for her own breathing. Not a creak, not a peep or whisper, not even the muffled groan of a zombie. It was as quiet as a tomb in that upper floor hallway. Elza smiled grimly at that thought. By this time, her eyes had fully adjusted to her darkened surroundings, so she picked a direction and took it.

Elza had picked the short end of the main hall for the simple reason that it would be the easiest to recce first. It was. Not far from the stairwell door, that end of the main hallway abruptly dead-ended at the window. There was a set of ornate double doors immediately to her left, but they turned out to be locked. Examining them as best she could in the gloom, she soon spotted the familar outline of one of the building's unique tri-purpose electronic locks on the left side of the door frame. It appeared to have a green stripe running along one side, but it was hard to tell in the gloom. "Well, that settles that," she thought to herself. "I won't be getting in here until I get the power up and find either the right code or card key to open this lock. I may as well give the other end of the hall a try." With that she turned and began retracing her steps back to the stairwell door.

This time, Elza took to the long end of the hall. There was a short dogleg around the stairwell, and then the hall ran straight to the other end of the building. There was the occasional bulletin board, wall poster, side table, cabinet, or bookcase on or along the walls. The lack of windows made it almost impossible to see the other end of the hallway, so she could not tell if there was anyone - or anything - awaiting her down there. Thus, Elza was extra careful as she rounded the dogleg and began to move down the hall. That was also why she both heard and saw the dim shadow move into the far end of the hall from somewhere to the right. It was barely discernible from the grey walls themselves down there in the darkness. Elza immediately pulled her pistol and fired two rounds rapid towards it. She heard the twin splats and half-gasp, half-groan that told her she had found her mark, and then an obese shape began to take form as it staggered towards her down the hall. She fired again, this time five rounds rapid. It stopped, staggered, but did not fall. Instead, it lurched back around, and then came at her almost at a run. This time Elza emptied her clip into it. Again it staggered, lurched, and jerked, but kept coming. She was now out of bullets, and the thing had closed to lunging range.

Elza barely had time to draw the large knife she had brought with her from its boot sheath when the zombie commenced its attack. As it half-leapt, half-lurched towards her with amazing speed, Elza twisted down and away from its grasp. She slashed at its lower legs and at the backs of its ankles as she passed, doing a neat tuck-and-roll as she cleared the thing. Idly she noticed in passing that the zombie had once been a police officer – a rather overweight one at that, she thought to herself. She cleared the zombie's reach even as it tried to turn and come after her, but the damage Elza had done to its legs with her knife was calculated and exact. With its slashed leg muscles and cut tendons no longer able to support it, the zombie literally spun into the floor. Its angry wail at having been thwarted was cut short by the roar of Elza's gun. She had grabbed a spare clip even as she had come up out of her roll, ejecting the empty one and slapping the new one in with her knife hand even as she spun around, and had four more bullets in its head by the time she was back on her feet. This time, it went down for good.

Elza heard the second zombie before she saw it. She wheeled back around to see that the darkness at the far end of the hall had hidden a sharp-angle turn to the right. Another "fat cop zombie," as she now thought of them (this one was black, not white), had come around the corner and was lumbering straight towards her. On this go-round, however, Elza used identical tactics to those of Rita earlier in the night to drop it: one bullet each in each of its knees to cap it, then two more to the head to finish it off. She ran to it even as it went down on its knees and gave it three deep stabs in the chest with her knife. It did not get back up.

Elza stood up and backed away a bit from the apparently lifeless zombie. As she looked around, she found herself in the turn at the far end of the third floor Main Hallway. In front of her was a large ornate wooden door, with a shiny brass sign to one side that declared CHIEF'S OFFICE/BRIAN IRONS in large, bold letters. There was some other writing under it, but she couldn't make it out in the darkness. Directly behind her was a short dogleg hall, the one out of which the two "fat cop zombies" had come, and it ended in a single reinforced metal door. On the adjoining wall near the far door was a large metal box with conduits running in and out of it. "Ah-hah," she thought to herself. "The main switchbox, I'll bet."

Elza walked to the end of the hall and opened the switchbox, keeping watch from the corner of her eye on the turn in the hall. Inside, it looked like any other electrical switchbox she had seen, save for the number of switches it held. She read the label inside the door, then found the breaker that would switch the building's power from the main grid to the emergency system. It was the lower of two large switches at the top. The leftside position was marked MAIN (for Main Bus) and the rightside GEN (for Generator). She marked the switch and its positions in her mind, then turned her attention to the nearby door. It was unlocked. Elza started to take the handle and turn it, but suddenly stopped. She turned and looked back down the hall at the ornate door at the turn – the one marked CHIEF'S OFFICE. Elza thought a moment, then let go of the handle. "I may as well search it now, while I'm here," she thought to herself. "That way, I won't have to come back to it later." She turned away from the door where she had been, then walked back down the short hallway to the ornate door. Lifting her hand to the handle, she tried the door. It too was unlocked. She opened it and went inside.

Elza found herself inside a fairly spacious office where any mid-level executive would have felt right at home, save for the darkness; however, there was plenty of ambient light from outside to lessen that. It had large picture windows with open blinds and curtains on two walls - the ones it shared with the outer walls of the RPD building - and an oversized, overhead picture of Raccoon City and its immediate surroundings dominated the long wall shared with the main hallway. Not only did the windows let in the moonlight, but also the light coming from what few signs and windows were still illuminated on the buildings across the street and down the block. One of these struck her as being out of place amid the gloom – a large lit sign displaying the word HEAVEN, attached to the top of a building directly to the west of the old RPD station. Immediately in front of her inside the office and several paces away, in its northwest corner where the windowed walls joined, was an antique bubble jukebox. This too struck her as being just as out of place as the lit HEAVEN sign beyond the windows. Both a large executive style desk with typical decorations and clutter and a large table dominated the center of the room, and there was a oversized model of Raccoon City in miniature on top of the table. As for the fourth wall of the Chief's Office, the one farthest from Elza, and the one which the office shared with the stairwell hall, it had three chief features. There was a closed door on the left side near the corner - presumably the one she couldn't open earlier in the stairwell hall, and probably meant for the Chief's use only. There was a large bookcase with glass doors in the other corner, where the wall joined with the longest of the two windowed walls. In between the side door and the bookcase was a couch ... and lying on it was a man. He was a late middle-aged policeman, with a greying moustache and pepper-colored hair with grey temples – and he had also been mauled by the zombies, judging from his appearance alone. Elza would later remember wondering if he had already turned.

All of this Elza noticed in less than two seconds – for almost as soon as she had entered the office, the man lifted his head from the couch and then looked at her with a painful expression. With an obvious effort, he then weakly gasped a single word.

"Roy ...?"

Elza trotted over to the figure on the couch. The man was wearing long-sleeved blue police fatigues somewhat similar to Kevin's uniform, but without the extra padding and built-in body armor. He had a gunbelt, too, but the gun was held in his bloodied right hand and was resting on his lower chest. His breathing was labored, and he was bathed in sweat. His left arm hung from his side and down on the floor, as if all feeling had gone out of it. Elza rather suspected it had. It was swathed in bloody bandages, and Elza knew she would have found zombie bite marks had she chosen to remove them.

The wounded man's head had sunk back down as she had made her way to him. He had seemed to see her before, but his glazed eyes did not see her now. "Roy ...?" he again groaned.

"I'm not Roy," Elza said, kneeling beside him. She pulled a cloth out of one of the pockets of her firesuit and began mopping his sweaty brow. "My name's Elza Walker. I'm from the university." He was running a high fever, too. Not good, Elza thought to herself. Not good at all.

"Uni .. versity?" the man half-gasped. His whole body shook, probably with the fever he was running. Suddenly it was stilled, and the wounded man began to laugh. It was a quiet laugh – the kind you hear in almost any good scary movie, the kind that will always send chills up your back. "That's ... that's impossible. They're all dead."

"No, sir," Elza said calmly. She had by now finished with his brow. She started to put the cloth back in her pocket but stopped herself. After looking at it for a second or two, she instead set it down at the base of the couch. "A few of us got out, but only a few. I'm the only one of those who made it here." She paused, and then added, "Are you Chief Irons?"

The man laughed again. "No, girl ... although I should have been chief. I would have been, had not Umbrella gotten their way. Irons was their man. A political appointee ... and one with a police record, too." His eyes suddenly flared, and he looked straight at her. "Brian Irons was once accused of being a rapist. Did you know that, girl? Did you—"

The wounded man was suddenly seized in a convulsive fit. Elza jumped back instinctively. She had already seen this kind of thing too many times before, and already had her gun pulled and aimed by the time she was safely back from him. The wounded man's own gun fell out of his shaking hand and clattered to the floor as he continued to convulse. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he settled back down. He took a deep, shaky breath, and then spoke. It was a weak voice, but it was surprisingly calm. "It's all right, girl. You can come back now. I haven't turned ... yet ... though I suppose it's only a matter of time now."

Elza carefully made her way back to the couch. She kept her gun up and aimed. The wounded man watched her the whole time, smiling. When she finally reached him, he chuckled. "Don't blame you. Keep it there, if it makes you feel better. What did you say your name was?"

"Elza Walker," Elza responded evenly.

"Elza ...." The wounded man said it with a touch of sadness. "I've got a daughter, Elizabeth. What a coincidence. I'm Robert Clemons. I'm not the RPD chief, as I should have been. I'm just the station chief. That's all ...." With that he looked down at his wounded arm and added, rather sardonically. "I don't think I'm going to be that for much longer, either."

 

Elza lowered her gun, then knelt beside Clemons again. He nodded as she did so, almost as if in approval. "Mr. Clemons, sir—"

"Chief Clemons, please. Let me enjoy what title I have while I still can."

Elza nodded. "Chief, I haven't see Roy or any other living person in what parts of the building I've been able to get into. I'm here with two others – two RPD officers, Kevin Ryman and Rita Burnside."

"Kevin? Rita?" Clemons' face and tone took on a hint of alarm. "Then the new RPD has fallen too?"

"Yes, sir – or so they told me. They fled from there to here in a SWAT van, but it got wrecked because of the zombies. I wrecked my bike because of them, too. That's how we came together, and that's how all of us ended up here."

Clemons turned his head from Elza to stare at the back of the couch. After a few seconds, he began to talk – almost as if to himself. "So, Brian. Looks like you didn't do any better on your end of town, either. All those men. All those good men. Damn .... I hope you got what you had coming to you, Brian. Even if it took killing a whole town, I hope you got what you had coming to you." His voice now became tinged with both anger and frustration. "Damn Umbrella! This is all their fault! Damn them all to hell!"

"Chief?" Elza said quietly, but with her own note of surprise. "What are you talking about?"

Clemons now turned to look at her again. Elza would never forget the look on his face as he began to speak. Some time later, when she tried to describe it in her account of what happened, she found it hard to come up with the right words.

It was ... it was sadness and frustration and despair all wrapped up into one. It was like someone at a revival, who is so wrapped up in the conviction of their own sin that they have to confess or explode – literally.

Elza listened, as Clemons told his tale.

"Miss Walker ... there's something you need to know. There's something I need to tell you before I'm no longer in any condition to tell anyone. Umbrella ... they own this town. They could and did do anything they wanted ... and they put their own people into office, or well-paid incompetent hirelings like Brian Irons, to make sure that nobody told the truth about what they were really all about. They weren't just about drugs, although they made a lot of good ones, I'll admit. They made a lot of bad ones, too – and that's where the truth comes in. Their prescription drug business was just a proper picture postcard front. They were into gene research, and biochemical warfare, and all sorts of nasty stuff like that and more. That's where they were making their real money ... and that's the truth behind what's been happening around here these past few months.

"Remember those news stories from back in the spring and summer? People getting attacked and killed by monsters in the Arklay Forest? Those were all true, Elza - every one of them - and it was Umbrella who made those monsters. They have facilities all over and around Raccoon City for making and experimenting with them. That big to-do at the Spencer Estate, and the supposed 'gas pipeline explosion' that destroyed those two mansions up there? That was a determined effort by Umbrella to kill my people – RPD STARS, our original SWAT team, whom I've had investigating Umbrella for months. Got almost all of them too – except for a bare handful. Of course Umbrella quickly moved in to cover it all up. They had Mayor Warren's help, and Brian's, and most of the local media. The only one they didn't control was the Raccoon Press, and they put Ben Bertolucci in jail on trumped-up charges so he couldn't talk. By the time September rolled around, they had the whole thing dead and buried, or so they thought. Dead and buried. What a laugh ....

"This outbreak was Umbrella's fault, too. They were working on something ... it was called the T-virus. STARS was investigating it, and we were getting close. Something must have gone wrong, horribly wrong. It got out, and infected almost everyone. That's where we are today, Elza. That's why you're here, and I'm here, and Kevin and Rita are here, and Roy too - wherever he is, if he's still alive - a handful of humans surrounded by tens of thousands of zombies. It's all Umbrella's fault, and there's no way they can cover it up this time."

There was a long pause as Elza digested what she had heard. Clemons was breathing easier than he had been, although it was still ragged. His need to tell her his story seemed to have done him a lot of good spiritually, if not physically. It was as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from him, and he showed it. He was still a man just barely on this side of the difference between the living and the dead, but at least he now had the peace of a man who had found a means to a confessional before dying.

"Chief," Elza said slowly, "I believe you. I can't do anything but believe you – with everything around us the way it is. But people on the outside won't be so easy to convince."

Clemons nodded. "That's right. You'll need evidence. Documentary proof. Samples, pictures, and so on. The STARS case files are locked up in my safe. Take them with you. They'll have all the evidence anyone will need to bring Umbrella down once and for all."

"Where's your safe?"

Clemons lifted a weak and shaky right hand, and pointed to the big table with the city model on it. "In there. One of Brian's old puzzles – a table with a secret compartment. He has a thing for puzzles and such. It was one of the few he didn't take with him to the new station. Anyway, you'll see there's a building missing from the model. It's in the Media Room. Once you put that building back in place, the model will shift and the compartment will come up. All the STARS case files are inside. Take them. You'll need them to bring Umbrella down." He paused, catching his breath, and then spoke again. "There's some pistol ammo in the drawers of my desk, if you need more."

"Thanks." Elza stood up and started to turn, but stopped as Clemons spoke again.

"No, thank you ... and ... could you give me back my gun?"

Elza looked down at the wounded man. There was now the hint of a pleading look in his sad eyes. Without another word she bent down, scooped up the fallen weapon, and gently placed it back into his good hand. Clemons nodded and smiled. "Thanks, Elza. It was good to meet you."

"Thank you. I'll never forget you ... Chief Clemons." With that she turned and left him, heading for the desk.

Clemons continued to talk quietly even after Elza had left him. Even as she found and took the box of pistol ammo, then made her way to the ornate office door, Clemons continued to speak. "If only Jill had been well enough to get out. Poor girl .... It took her this long to heal up ... from what happened to her ... there at the mansion ... poor girl ... God, I hope she makes it .... I hope Brad made it, too .... Jill ... she was the last one .... Poor Rebecca ... and what that bastard did to Barry and his family .... Chris ... I hope you succeeded .... Enrico ... Richard ... Joe ... Ken ... Edward ... Forest ... oh, God ... oh, God ...." With that, the wounded man began to cry.

Elza slipped out of the office and gently closed the ornate door behind her. The third floor main hallway was still clear. She stood there for a long moment, one hand up and its fingertips pressed on the door, almost as if she were sharing in the sorrow of the dying station chief inside. Eventually, she turned, and made the short walk to the rooftop door.

She was about to turn the handle when it happened. A single gunshot rent the air, followed by the sound of a pistol tumbling to the floor. Elza bowed her head. Former RPD station chief Robert Clemons would not turn into a zombie – not now, nor ever - and she silently promised herself to do her best in carrying the heavy burden that he had just laid on her.

\------------------------------

Chapter 3 - Reunion

When Elza finally stepped through the rooftop door, she felt like she had walked into a well. "More like an excavation," she mentally corrected, looking ahead at the large metal staircase in front of her. It rose up, following the building's front facade to her right, until it had cleared the far part of the third floor. At that point it made a right-angle turn and ran parallel to and somewhat above the top of the third floor before ending. The reason for this was immediately obvious. The rooftop helipad, held up by a large metal support structure, sat directly over most of the building's third floor. Also in front of her, a short distance away and under the stairs, was a single metal door. It apparently went to some part of the third floor she hadn't previously visited. She certainly didn't remember seeing it from the inside. Completing the impression of a well or excavation was a tall, tightly woven chain link security fence to her right, running from the left edge of the rooftop door all the way under the helipad and nigh to the edge of the door under there. The reason for the fence probably had a lot to do with a very large sign mounted beside the only gate in the fence, whose familiar-looking large printed legend Elza had no trouble reading: WARNING / HIGH VOLTAGE.

Elza immediately went to the gate in the fence. It was chained shut and padlocked. "Damn!" she swore softly to herself. She then looked through the links of the gate that barred her way. There were clusters of storage tanks both large and small, electrical cabinets, and other rooftop machinery both to her left and right. It was the large, long metal cabinet in the back corner of the walled area behind the fence, though, that caught and held her attention. That had to be the building's emergency generator. It couldn't have been anything else, given its size. Elza had worked on enough motors and electrical components of various kinds (a spin-off of her motorcycling hobby) to recognize an industrial-strength generator cabinet when she saw one. There was also the fact that it sat directly across from two very large storage tanks located under the overhang of the helipad. They had to be either the generator's fuel supply or storage tanks for aviation fuel. "Avgas," she thought to herself. "That can run a diesel generator. I wonder ...." The generator was so close ... less than a couple dozen feet away ... and yet so far ... not to mention the padlocked gate between her and her goal. It didn't help matters any that sitting in plain sight atop one of the nearby electrical cabinets was a large crank handle with a hex head. She recognized it immediately ... and it was even closer to her than the generator. If only it weren't for that damn padlock! She felt like a cat being teased by its owner, with the treat she wanted always kept just out of reach. She clutched the chain link fence with both hands, looking longingly at both the generator and the crank handle ... and then she had an idea.

"I obviously can't go through this locked gate," she said to, "but maybe I can go over it instead."

Elza turned and trotted to the helipad stairs. She quickly ascended, and went all the way to the edge of the helipad landing. She then looked down. There was the generator in plain sight in the walled rooftop corner, with the electrical cabinet nearby and the crank handle on top of it.. Unfortunately, there were no real handholds for climbing down into the enclosure, and the height involved was too great to jump safely. There was a very real chance she would be hurt if she tried. So much for that idea.

Elza now looked up. She cast her gaze across the darkened buildings of Raccoon City - some of them still burning - and eventually found herself staring up at the sky. All of the rescue helicopters were either gone or wrecked, if what she had heard was true. She also knew that the Umbrella people still moving about within the doomed city were going to be no help at all, if what had happened at the university was any indication. The three of them were cut off and alone, trapped in the middle of a city swarming with the infected. Was there any hope at all of escape?

Suddenly Elza had the feeling she was being watched. She didn't know how or why, but she knew it – as instinctively as anything else her country girl senses and hunting skills might have signaled. She slowly turned around. She was now facing the helipad, with only its closed gate barring her entrance ... and beyond, perched on the railings or roosting on the pad itself, as well as sitting on a couple of crates stacked near the far edge, were crows ... dozens of crows ... the most crows she had ever seen flocked together in one place ... and all of them were staring at her ... rather intently, or so it seemed. She got the impression she had walked into the middle of the meeting of a secret cabal without knowing it, like you sometimes see in the movies, and every eye in the place was now fixated on her and her alone.

There was no doubt in Elza's mind that all of the crows were infected. Their bloody beaks and claws were indirect evidence of that, as all of them must have been feeding on the dead in Raccoon City. What concerned her the most, though, were their eyes. Their unnatural red hue seemed to bespeak of an unearthly intelligence that had been granted to them by their own infection. These were no longer normal crows. They only resembled them in a general and vague sort of way. What they had become - or what they would become, should the same mutation cycle she had seen in the zombies affect them too - was a truly frightening thought. For the moment, they were not baleful – merely watchful. "They must have just gotten through feeding not long ago," Elza thought to herself. "Maybe I've got a chance."

Slowly, very slowly, well aware that her every move was being watched, Elza took a step backwards towards the stairs. At the same time she lifted and began to change the positions of both arms – again, very slowly, just as she had been trained to do when hunting in the wild and accidentally surprising a dangerous predator. Inch by slow inch, her left hand lifted and reached back for the platform rail while her right slowly sunk down to her pistol. The crows continued to watch, but made no move. Both of her hands found what they sought almost at the same time, and then Elza took another slow step backwards. One crow cawed and a few stirred on their roosts, and with that she froze in place ... watching ... waiting .... The crows settled back down. Elza breathed a small sigh of relief.

Ever so slowly and carefully, occasionally risking the quick glance downward to make sure she didn't miss her steps, Elza backed down the platform's metal stairs. By the time she reached the landing halfway down she was already out of sight of the crows. Still, she continued her slow movements. She knew their hearing was a lot sharper than hers, and felt she couldn't take the risk. It seemed to take forever, but finally she made it to the rooftop door. Once there, and after having taken one more look back up at the helipad, Elza was suddenly all action. She yanked open the door, darted inside, and slammed it shut behind her. There was a cawing and a commotion outside, but they couldn't reach her now. She was safe ... inside a building full of zombies. Strange definition of safe, she mused ironically ... but it would have to do for now.

* * * * *

Rita had decided to begin her search of the RPD's second floor in its northwest quadrant. It was the only part of the building she had not yet already been through in her earlier and rather hasty visit. Beyond the mutilated body under the broken window was the hallway to the Media Room, with its double fire doors, and she already knew what awaited her beyond them. Besides, as she reminded herself, she wouldn't be able to even attempt to enter the Media Room until the building's power was restored. It had a triple-key electronic lock, like the one on the Cell Bay, and she didn't possess any of the necessary means to unlock it even if the power had been back on. Both the Media Room and its zombie-filled hallway could hold for now, until the power was restored and she had secured at least one of the means to open that lock. The grim and eyeless sentinel under the window could keep, too. It obviously wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. With that Rita turned around and headed back down the way she came through the second floor's main hallway, past the fire door to the Stairwell Hall, and straight ahead to the first room within reach of this unsearched part of the building.

Directly ahead of Rita were the swinging double doors to the Medical Room. It had been a late addition to the old RPD building, and was in one sense the newest part of the station. It had originally been a couple of adjoining offices, but a separating wall had been knocked out between them, and the door had been relocated and enlarged, so the combined space could be used as an examination room by Robert Novak, the county coroner. This had originally been intended as a temporary measure, in order to save Novak from having to shuttle back and forth between the old RPD station and Raccoon Hospital on police cases, whenever there was a body involved. There had been plans for a new Medical Room to be dug out in the lower basement near the Morgue, but that was before Brian Irons had become the chief of the RPD. With his purchase of the old art museum for use as the new home of the RPD, the original plans to relocate the old RPD station's Medical Room had been abandoned. A new one was to be created as part of an annex to the new station's basement, and that made redundant the plans for relocating the one at the old station. Rita recalled that there had even been plans to convert the old building's Medical Room back into its original office spaces once work on the new Medical Room at the new RPD was complete. That was before the Outbreak, of course. Now both old and new RPD would be forever frozen in their current configurations – if they remained at all, that is.

The first sight that met Rita's eyes as she entered the Medical Room was a single zombie standing absolutely still, facing away from her and towards the examination table. It seemed to be frozen there, with only a ragged motion in its upper body indicating that it was breathing. It did not turn its head towards her nor did anything else to acknowledge her entry into the room. It simply stood there, breathing raggedly. At least the illumination from the room's emergency lights was strong enough to give her a chance to get a good look at it. It was dressed in ragged civilian clothes with a knee-length lab coat on top, and both were covered with blood. In fact, the zombie seemed almost to be bathed in blood from the knees up. Its hands were caked with blood, and she could see open wounds on both them and the side of the face that was visible to her. Despite these disfigurements, she at once recognized who the zombie had been. It was Robert Novak himself, the county cororner – or rather what was left of him. Yet ... the thing continued to stand there, not moving save for its breathing. It was as if the zombie were inviting its own death. That is what Rita would swear, anyway, in recalling the events afterward, and based largely on what happened next.

Rita took another step into the Medical Room, raising her gun as she did so. She was already poised in a firing stance when it turned – as if it had finally took notice of her. Unlike all of the other zombies she had previously encountered, however, this one did not lunge at her. Instead, it just stood there, its head turned to face her, and stared at her. Its jaw worked as if it were trying to speak, but nothing came out of its mouth save for a wordless jumble of sound. It was its eyes, though - the look in its eyes - that would make Robert Novak's zombie unforgettable in Rita's mind. As it stood there, with its bloody clothes and blood-caked hands, and its bloodied mouth twisting in undecipherable sounds, there was a look of such piteous dread in its eyes that Rita almost couldn't stand it. Although it never said a word in any human language, she could almost hear the words in her mind. "Kill me. Please! Oh God, please kill me!!!" Rita immediately put two shots in the zombie's head, and it collapsed instantly into a heap. She walked up to it and put a third shot in its head, just to be sure. The body continued to twitch, but that was due more to the effects of the T-virus than anything else. The zombie that had been Robert Novak, county coroner, would not be reanimating any time soon.

From where she now stood beside Novak's body, Rita commanded an excellent view of the Medical Room. Almost at once she saw the reason for the horror she thought she had seen in the zombie's eyes, and the sight of it made her stomach churn. The half-eaten remains of Novak's late lab assistant were sprawled across the examination table. She had been dead for quite a while, and something - probably the zombie that had been Novak - had ripped open the poor woman's abdomen and chest cavity. There were enough entrails and other organ remains strewn around the table to make even the staunchest person vomit ... and it was all Rita could do to keep from doing so herself at both the sight and smell. This explained the sheer quantity of blood on Novak's zombie. There was another body on the floor as well, bearing dissection scars and sprawled as if it had been knocked off of the examination table. All too clearly was the tale told of what had probably happened in the Medical Room.

Rita took a deep breath, more to steel herself against the sights and smells in that room than anything else, then began searching the place for anything usable. Her efforts were quickly rewarded. There was a cabinet to one side of the double doors, and beyond that was a large storage vault with a glass door. At once she recognized it as the kind used by medical personnel for storing medicines and tissue samples. Inside were a number of vials of powder of three different colors – red, green, and blue. At this she wondered, but an examination of the items on the nearby cabinet soon explained this. On top of the cabinet was a clipboard that the late coroner had apparently been using. On it was clipped both a memo and a plastic green RPD keycard. Rita picked up the clipboard and began to read the memo.

 

To: Station Chief Robert Clemons

From: Robert Novak, County Coroner

Bob, I've got those herbal vials prepared and ready per the CDC Memo. All of them are stored in the main medicine cabinet in the Medical Room. There's plenty for everyone and to spare of all three basic herb types, as described in both the CDC Memo and the STARS report on the Spencer Mansion Incident. I would suggest that everybody take some of all three, and I'll keep the rest as a ready stockpile in case anyone runs out.

By the way, I'll be glad when they finish work on the new Medical Room over at the new station. Having to walk all those stairs from up here down to the Morgue is getting to be a real pain. What fool designed this building, anyway?

One more thing. You sent Bernice the wrong color keycard for that lock. She's a coroner's assistant, not a reporter. I'll hang onto it until I get the right one, then return it when that's done.

 

Rita's mind raced. The Mansion Incident! She was as familar as anybody on the force with the general details, but only the surviving STARS members knew the full story. They had been tight-lipped ever since their return. STARS had lost everyone but their paramedic on the Bravo Team, and Rebecca Chambers had both quit the force and checked herself into a nuthouse shortly thereafter. Neither Chris Redfield nor Barry Burton would talk about it. Alpha Team member Jill Valentine was still on the sick list, recovering from the injuries she had received during whatever had happened there – and she had remained tight-lipped about the whole thing whenever Rita had gone to pay her a visit in the hospital, not long after the others had brought her back with them. So that was the connection. Whatever had gone down at the Spencer Mansion had now claimed Raccoon City as well. The herbal vials? Probably something they had found at the mansion, something that would help protect people against the Outbreak. But how were they supposed to be used? She took one each of the colored vials from the medicine cabinet and then closed the cabinet door. She also took the green keycard as well. "I don't know what it's for, but I know it's for something," she thought to herself. "Best to hang onto it until it's time."

Suddenly she heard a loud plop! behind her. Instinctively she spun around and took a step back, putting her back to the nearest wall. What happened next happened so quickly that only her prompt reaction saved her life. The top half of Bernice Tackett, Dr. Novak's former lab assistant, had fallen off of the lab table – or had it crawled?! Anyhow, it had reanimated, and was now clawing its way towards her, dragging itself along with its hands. It was so close now that there wasn't time to pull her pistol, so Rita did the only thing she could. Even as it grasped one of her ankles with one hand, she drew her free leg back and kicked it in the head as hard as she could. There was an immediate crack! as its neck broke, and its face partially caved in under the impact of the hard rubber sole of Rita's work shoe. Even as the thing's grip relaxed on her ankle, she kicked it again and again until it let go completely. She slipped and slid in the blood on the floor before her as she skittered past the thing, past the body of what had been Dr. Novak, and bolted for the door.

Rita didn't stop running until she was back in the main hall. Once there, she promptly dropped to her knees and began to throw up. Somehow she managed a brief pause, during which she staggered into the nearby bathroom, then continued to throw up in the toilet. She didn't stop until the only thing left were the dry heaves. All the while, the bloodied sightless corpse under the far window continued to stare down the hall, propped up against the wall in the position of its last fatal spasm ... as if sharing with its nonexistent eyes the horror that had almost claimed one Rita Burnside.

* * * * *

Kevin was already nearing the top of the basement stairs when he heard the distant sound of gunfire from above him. Ignoring his own advice about what to do whenever one of them got in trouble, just before they had split up, he took the remaining steps two at a time. The shooting had stopped by the time he had gripped the door handle and was just about to turn it. He stood still for a moment, listening. No warning yells or death screams. He didn't know which one of them it had been, Elza or Rita - Rita most likely, since the second floor was closer to him - but whichever one of them it was seemed to have the situation back under control. Mentally he breathed a sigh of relief, and then opened the door.

Standing directly in front of him was one of the zombies that had been shot down in the hallway earlier. It had obviously revived – and it had mutated, too. The effects of the T-virus at this next stage were striking. Every inch of its skin was now a brilliant and bloody crimson hue. In addition, long, bony protrusions akin to claws had grown out the tips of each of its fingers. It was fast, too. It was on top of Kevin before he even had time to react. The wrestling pair, human and zombie, fell back through the doorway and onto the stairwell landing. Thankfully for Kevin's sake, the door automatically closed on its hydraulic hinge and relatched before the other zombies in the hallway could take advantage of the situation.

Kevin may have been caught off-guard, but that didn't mean he was beaten. He had just enough time to throw up his arms for defense before this ... crimson zombie ... as Kevin now thought of it, had grabbed him and pushed him down. It had one of each of his wrists in its now-powerful hands - strangely strong, Kevin thought absentmindedly, and more powerful than they should have been - and by this means it was pinning his arms back, trying to press down on him and tear at his throat with its teeth by the sheer weight of its body. It was all Kevin could do, with his back to the floor, to keep the squirming, struggling, screaming, and saliva-dripping horror mere inches away from his face.

Somehow, incredibly, Kevin managed to get one of his knees under the thing. It took all of his effort, but he managed to lift it up just enough to get the foot from his other leg planted under it. Once he did, he kicked – hard. The force of Kevin's action ejected the undead thing clear of him. It fell backwards, screaming and scrambling for any kind of grip ... and then tumbled down the clear center of the stairwell all the way to the bottom basement level. Kevin was satisfied to hear bones break as it fell, and an even louder set of simultaneous cracks and splats as it hit bottom. That particular zombie would not be troubling anyone anymore.

Even as the sounds of the falling zombie filled the stairwell, Kevin was already back up on his feet and moving back to the stairwell door. This time he paused – listening, his hand on the handle but not turning it. The sounds were unmistakable. There was another zombie now in position behind the door, and it was probably another one of those damn fast crimson jobs. He listened for a bit. He knew there had been four zombies in the hall the last time he had been in here with Rita and Elza, and one was now lying at the bottom of the stairwell with a broken neck. He only heard one more beyond the door. Where were the other two? Had they transformed yet? Or were they somewhere else farther down the East Hallway, where the distance would make them impossible to hear? He knew he had the one to deal with, though, and he knew just how to deal with it. A wry smile spread across Kevin's face as his hand tightened on the handle.

Without any kind of warning at all, Kevin yanked open the stairwell door. As he did so, he moved with it, staying behind the door and out of reach of what lay beyond. The second crimson zombie, which had been waiting to ambush him (just like the first had done) eagerly pounced ... and found only thin air. It staggered through the door and onto the landing – and with that, Kevin popped out from behind the door and gave the thing a shove with all the strength he had. "Mind the stairs!" he chortled as he pushed the thing headfirst down them. It tumbled all the way down, screaming and whining and flailing its arms and limbs in a desperate effort to catch itself. All it got for that were broken finger bones, and soon a second series of loud, bone-shattering kraks! told Kevin that the thing was down for good. It wound up in a jumbled heap at the bottom of the first landing, with its limbs splayed in every direction. Kevin was only halfway paying attention, however. As soon as the zombie had been sent on its way, he had whirled about and drawn both of his pistols – just in case one of the two remaining zombies in the hallway decided to join the party. Neither did, and the doorway remained clear. He popped through the stairwell door unopposed, guns at the ready and sweeping the hallway in both directions. One of the last two zombies remained lying on the floor near the water fountain, where Rita had shot it earlier. The other, judging by the sounds, had not yet turned – and seemed to be shambling around in the foyer by the back door. Kevin went back there and promptly put a .45 ACP slug in its head, then returned to the hall and did the same with the one on the floor. He wasn't taking any chances. He knew what would happen should they be given the chance to revive a second time.

As he finished with the last zombie, Kevin heard a sound from the far end of the hall. It sounded like a startled gasp, albeit high-pitched. Kevin looked up ... and when he did, he saw a sight that was completely unexpected. It was something so out of the norm with the zombie apocalypse world in which he now found himself that Kevin couldn't help but start.

"What ... the ... hell ...?" Kevin heard himself mumble.

* * * * *

As soon as she had recovered from the last of the dry heaves, Rita cleaned her face in the bathroom sink. Luckily, the bathroom was located right across the hall from the Medical Room, in the opposite corner of where the hall jinked before continuing northward. It was only a single bathroom, and that was an oddity for a public building in modern times. Even so, an inside lock had been fitted to the door and a neatly printed sign on the outside jokingly declared, First come, first served. It was one of the last vestiges of the early days of the old RPD building, back when there had been only men on the force. Her business completed, Rita now left the bathroom and resumed her search of the RPD's second floor. There were two rooms left to search: the SPF Office and the Radio Room. Rita decided to search the one farthest away first. That was the Radio Room. Its doorway was at the far end of the hall, in the northwest corner of the building.

Rita couldn't help but notice the door to the SPF Office as she bypassed it, making the left turn in the hall towards the Radio Room. The window glass had not yet been replaced, and it still bore the STARS logo within its panel. Over it had been taped a large piece of posterboard, on which had been written in careful and large letters, RPD SPECIAL POLICE FORCE / CAPT. DENHAM / COMMANDING. Prior to the SPF's occupancy, this office had been the original home of RPD STARS. Rita smiled sadly as she continued down the empty hall towards the Radio Room. She remembered STARS Bravo Team ... the first to have fallen victim to the horrors of what was now called the Mansion Incident. Captain Enrico Marini had been a good man, a good police officer, and a good friend. So had those under his command ... Edward Dewey, Forrest Speyer, Kenneth Sullivan, Kevin Dooley ... and of course young Rebecca, their paramedic. She had been Bravo Team's newest and youngest member before the Spencer Mansion incident - hell, she had been green as grass, straight from the police academy - and both she and Rita had hit it off instantly. Both were petite ladies - in fact, they had been almost the same size in clothes - so it had seemed natural to everyone that they had become such good friends so fast. Then the Mansion Incident had gone down, and well ... she was gone now. The fact that whatever had happened there had spooked Rebecca so bad that she had traded her police job for a room with padded walls still upset Rita. She hoped the poor girl would someday find herself again. Gone also were the rest of Bravo Team. All gone now. All that remained were that door, and her memories of them ... and it too threatened to blow away in the wind of Raccoon City's latest calamity.

She had reached the Radio Room by now. She stopped at the door, listening for a moment, then pulled her gun and went in. There were two zombies of the regular variety inside. One was about halfway down the room, at the far end of the main transmitter console, and the other was shuffling around in front of the shelving unit housing the portable two-way radios. They both turned in Rita's direction as she entered, but she didn't wait for them to act. She acted first, firing at both of them with carefully aimed shots to their heads. The head of the one immediately in front of her exploded in a spray of flesh and bone, and its body instantly collapsed. As for the other, it let out a mournful wail as the force of the bullet's impact spun it halfway around. Rita fired at it again, and it went down ... but she knew it wasn't finished yet. She immediately advanced and pumped two more bullets into its head. It stopped moving, save for the twitching motions common to all types of the infected. It wouldn't be going anywhere for a while. She now had time to search the room.

The first thing Rita noticed was that the control panels for the RPD's main radio transmitter were hopelessly smashed. Most likely it had been done by the two zombies trapped inside the room during their initial transformation, she guessed. The second thing was that the shelving unit housing the two-way radios was in almost equally bad shape. She carefully checked each radio over, and found that only four still appeared to work. These she set aside from the rest. There was no way to recharge them, what with the main power down and all, but she was hoping their batteries were still good. "Might prove useful later on," she thought to herself. She then noticed a piece of paper lying on a nearby table, and picked it up to read it.

 

To: Robert Novak, County Coroner

From: Centers for Disease Control

Washington, DC

RE: Spencer Mansion Incident Herb Sample Test Results

We confirm the initial analysis of your local experts as to the remarkable restorative powers of the herb samples recently collected at the Spencer Mansion. We also agree with your assessment and that of your superiors in that keeping an ample supply of these herbs on hand will prove of definite value in your continued investigations, should you encounter similarly infected or mutated genetic phenomena.

Our own tests have shown that the key components of these herbs lose none of their potency when converted into either powdered or liquid form. To that end, we suggest that your people collect as many of the three different types of herbs that you can and convert them to either one of these two forms. A single herb thus reduced will translate into a full sample storage vial in either powdered or liquid form. Either of these end products will be easier to store and transport, as well as carry on one's person.

Attached are instructions as to the proper conversion procedures for each form.

 

Rita noted that whatever had been attached to the CDC Memo had been torn off, with only staple holes in the upper left corner marking its previous presence. "I'll bet it's in the Medical Room," she thought to herself. "So that's what that cabinet full of colored vials was all about. We could probably make more if we could find those instructions."

Rita spent a few more minutes searching the Radio Room, but found nothing else of value. Finding both the working two-way radios and the CDC Memo had been useful, so at least the trip had been worth it. She looked down at the zombie body still quivering in the corner, half-propped up against the wall. "No telling when you're coming back to life, my friend," she muttered. "Guess I better get outta here while I can. None of us should have to come back in here anymore, I think." With that she scooped up the four working two-way radios - putting two in her pockets and clipping two to her gunbelt - picked up the memo as well, and then left the room.

* * * * *

"What ... the ... hell?"

Kevin's amazed eyes were fixed on the far end of the RPD's first floor East Hallway, staring at the turn that it made towards the Lobby. Standing there now, staring back at him with her own face full of surprise and fear, was a little girl. She couldn't have been more than twelve years old - probably eight or nine - and was wearing what appeared to be a sailor suit styled outfit of some kind. The blouse might have been light blue and the shorts dark blue at one time, but not now. Both they and the girl were streaked with dirt and grime, and the blouse's former light blue was evident only where an almost yellow overcoat of filth had either escaped it or worn off. She looked like she had been on the run for a while, Kevin thought. Possibly since the Outbreak went down?

"Hey!" Kevin called out, lowering his gun.

At the sound of his voice, the little girl immediately turned and bolted around the turn in the hall.

"Wait!" Kevin called again, running after her. She was probably too scared to realize he didn't mean her any harm. He was fast for his size, but not fast enough. He heard the Lobby door open and close even as he reached the turn in the hall. He rounded it at full speed, closed the short distance to the door, then yanked it open and sped through.

Nothing. The Lobby was empty.

Kevin stood in the middle of the Lobby, not far from Elza's wrecked motorcycle, and looked in all directions. Where had the little girl gone? Where could she had gone in so short a time, and how? Suddenly he heard the sound of gunshots, muffled but unmistakable, coming from somewhere above him. They were too loud to be from the third floor, and he probably wouldn't have heard any coming from up on the roof. "Rita!" he thought immediately. "She's in trouble! I gotta--"

Kevin's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of metal tearing under the force of sheer weight. His head snapped around towards the front of the Lobby. The zombies had broken through the security shutter and were now pouring in. It had been design to protect against many things - fire, unwanted intruders, and so on - but not a rampaging horde of zombies trying to force through it by sheer weight alone. Kevin had about a half-second to decide what to do next, and then he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. He'd be buried under a writhing pile of them.

Kevin abruptly turned to his right and sprinted for the dogleg hall leading to the west side of the building. Through its door and to the left was the stairwell to the upper floors. Rita and Elza were probably still on the upper floors, and it was the quickest route he had to reach them. Besides – its extra length, plus the turn at the Lobby Office door, plus his own running, just might give him the extra second or two he needed to open the door at its end ... and thus escape the very real trap in which he now found himself.

Kevin made both the hall and the turn in record time – and found two more zombies between him and the West Hallway door. What were they doing there?! They hadn't been there before! Kevin vaguely recognized them as having been two of the zombies that had been in the Lobby Office on his previous visit. They must have revived after the three humans had left, and then gotten out by climbing over the counter. It really didn't matter how they had done it – they were here, in front of him, and blocking his only escape route out of the Lobby. Instantly both of Kevin's pistols were up and he was firing. They both dropped, but he had no time left to open the door. The two zombies in the dogleg hall had delayed him just long enough, and now the horde behind him was practically on his heels. Kevin spun around as fast as he could and began firing. He didn't even bother to aim, nor did he have to. The zombies in front of the horde immediately dropped, forcing the others behind to stumble over them as best they could – but by now, the two behind Kevin were almost back up on their feet.

The only thing that was helping Kevin in this difficult situation, aside from his weapons, was the sheer size of the horde. It worked against the zombies rather than aiding them. As Kevin would shoot one, blood would spurt from the wound. The nearby zombies would turn on the wounded one and all of them would go down in a dogpile, clogging the way to the human and thus narrowing the routes the others could take. Once the smell of fresh blood was cut off under those piles, however, they would be ignored – and in the meantime, the other zombies were clawing their way around the obstacles and still moving forward. They helped to slow the zombie horde, but they did not stop them ... and there were the two behind him who simply refused to die, and kept blocking his only way out. It looked as if it he would have to use a full clip from his SiG to kill them both – and while he was shooting them, the crowd in front of him had a greater chance of overwhelming him. Kevin spun again and held up both his guns in two different directions, so that his Kimber (with its bigger bite) was aimed at the horde and his nine millimeter SiG Sauer at the two zombies behind him – but it was a hopeless situation, and he knew it. He had to keep an eye in both directions, and that left him no possibility of somehow bolting around the two zombies at the end of the dogleg hall and escaping through the door behind them. Kevin knew he was about to die within a half-minute at most, very horribly, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

There was only one thing for Kevin left to do, and he did it. He began to empty clip after clip from both his pistols into the zombies before and behind him. Kevin also began yelling at the top of his lungs. "SHIT!!!" he bellowed, as a zombie fell almost in his face with a .45 ACP round in its head, while one of the wounded ones behind flopped around his ankles, trying to pull him off his feet. "Die, you BASTARDS!!! DIE!!!" he yelled again, as he stomped at the zombie on the floor and shot two more in front desperately clawing for him. "DIE, DAMNIT, DIE!!!!!"

* * * * *

Rita was just about to go into the SPF Office when she heard a sound at the far end of the hall. Bringing her pistol to the ready, she walked down to the bathroom door and made the turn that would bring the far end of the hall into view. There was the broken window, with its shattered glass scattered on the floor. There too was the crow-pecked body – except that it was no longer sitting beneath the window. It was standing in front of it now, making a motion that was almost like rolling its shoulders. Its eyes, or rather what was left of them, locked onto Rita. The thing's skin had turned a ghastly hue of crimson, and long bony protrusions now extended from its blooded fingertips. It suddenly let out a screeching roar and began running towards her. "God, but that thing's FAST!" Rita would later remember thinking, as she aimed her pistol and fired.

She got off one round, hitting the thing as it was about a third of the way down the hall. It jerked to the left and its left shoulder popped back from the impact of the bullet, but it kept on coming. Rita was already squeezing the trigger a second time when the fire door to the stairwell hall flew open - directly in front of the thing charging at her. Rita's bullet hit the now-opened fire door and ricocheted off to one side. At the bottom of the fire door, as close to the ground as she could get, was Elza. She had come in low, kicked the door open before her, and was now braced against its bottom well out of Rita's line of fire. Suddenly there was a loud wham! and a muffled shriek as the crimson-skinned zombie hit the back side of the door. Immediately Elza's hand was up and pulling the door closed behind her, even as she vaulted up and away, hugging the west wall of the hallway and trying to stay out of Rita's line of fire. The door slammed shut, revealing a groaning and half-dazed zombie with blood-hued skin staggering about, holding its hands with their incredible bony claws up to what was left of its face.. Rita fired three more times, with two of her bullets going home and the third going one better. The thing's head jerked twice, and then a fountain of blood shot from its neck a split-second later. It gasped, gurgled, went to its knees as it clawed at the hole in its throat, then pitched over on its face. It did not get up again.

"Jesus Christ, what was that thing?!" Elza said, as she joined Rita down by the Medical Room double doors.

"It used to be a zombie – a normal zombie," Rita said. To her surprise, there was a quiver in her voice. "It was propped up under the window down there. I thought it was dead. I had no idea it would revive – and certainly not like this." She walked over to Elza and touched her shoulder. "You took an awful chance doing that, Elza. I could have shot you. Thanks all the same, though. That was a pretty nifty stunt."

"Yeah, it was a big chance," Elza muttered, but she was smiling. She looked at Rita. "I was almost at the door when I heard it start coming after you. I tried to time it so that it ended up like it did. I was hoping the door alone would take it out. I knew you'd be shooting, so that's why I came in as low as I could. I didn't count on you having to deal with a transformed zombie." She looked down at what was left of it, then back up at Rita. "I wonder what made it turn like that?"

"I have no idea," Rita said, and she meant it. "And I've never seen a zombie move like this one before, either. It was fast, Elza – damn fast. I might have gotten off one more round, but that would have been it for me. I'd be zombie food right now, had it not been for you."

"I was almost crow bait myself," Elza said evenly. "Do you know the roof's covered in infected crows?"

Rita was about to answer when a series of muffled gunshots sounded beneath their feet. A few seconds later, they heard a familar voice. "DIE!!!" came the muffled yell. "Die, you BASTARDS!!! DIE!!!"

Immediately Rita bolted for the stairwell hall's fire door, her pistol in a running carry. Elza followed right on her heels. "But Kevin said—"

"Never mind what Kevin said!" Rita exclaimed, as she yanked the door open and ran on through. "C'mon!! There still might be time to save him!!!"

* * * * *

Almost half a minute had passed since Kevin had made his first warning cry. The two zombies behind him were dead now, but the horde in front was pressing too close. It was all he could do to keep firing, reloading, and then firing again, as his supply of both pre-loaded clips and ammunition was beginning to run dangerously low. There wasn't time to turn and make a quick grab for the door handle. If he did, the zombies would be on him in a heartbeat – and once that happened, then it would be all over for one Kevin Ryman.

As Kevin quick-loaded and began firing from his last nine-millimeter clip - he had emptied his Kimber about ten seconds ago - he wondered if he should go ahead and make the try. He was going to die either way, and in the same horrible way. All he was doing was delaying the inevitable. Kevin hoped the girls

had heard him, and would have the good sense to stay away. He didn't want them to see what was about to happen—

Suddenly the door behind Kevin was flung open. He dared not turn, even as he heard it smack the wall beside him. The girls! It had to be!! Bullets began zinging into the zombies from behind him – dangerously close, so close that Kevin could have sworn one went by his right ear. He then heard a voice – a welcome voice, a voice he had not expected nor hoped to hear, but welcome nonetheless.

"Kevin!!!" Rita yelled. "C'MON!!!"

Kevin quick-turned and bolted for the now-open door. He was through it in a fraction of a second. Rita yanked it shut behind him as soon as he was through, almost catching one of his running feet in the process. There was the sound of muffled impacts and poundings on the door, and numerous zombie wails and cries, but it held fast.

"Jeezuz, but that was close!" Elza exclaimed. It was she who had been standing in front of the door, providing covering fire while Rita opened and closed it for Kevin. He was standing beside her now, panting, coming down off the high of having looked death square in the face and yet somehow escaping to live another day. He caught her looking at him from the corner of his eye, and then turned and grinned at her.

"I never thought I'd be saying this, Miss Walker," Kevin said, "but I am actually glad to see you. Thank you." He then turned and looked at Rita, who had now drawn close to them. "Thank you both. I would have been a dead man if—"

"No time to talk," Rita said. "That's a strong door, but I don't trust anything lately. Let's head back upstairs. It's probably a lot safer than down here."

Both Elza and Kevin looked at each other, then back at Rita and nodded their assent. "Whatever you say," Kevin said. "I've had enough excitement for today already."

\------------------------------

Chapter 4 - Respite

The three of them - two RPD officers and one collegiate motorcycle racer - slipped into the East Stairwell and proceeded to head up the stairs. The sounds of the zombies in the Lobby feeding on their own grew softer the higher they ascended. None of them said a word, each apparently too busy with his or her own thoughts. By the time they reached the second floor stairwell door, they could hardly hear the noise below.

Kevin stopped just as they had finished passing through the stairwell door and into the second floor's stairwell hall. He turned to Elza. "Miss Walker, I owe you an apology."

Elza looked surprised. "Me? What for?"

"For saving my ass." The words sounded as if Kevin were forcing them out, and his face was set as if he were undertaking a task he did not relish. "I got on to you earlier for letting yourself get trapped in the Lobby Office with all those zombies. Well, I did almost the same thing and in almost the same location. That's why I owe you an apology." He shifted on his feet, then suddenly offered a hand. "Accepted?"

Elza looked at him for some time. Rita glanced at each, unsure of what was about to happen next. After a while, though, Elza reached into one of her racing firesuit pockets. She fished out a full SiG P228 ammo clip and placed it in Kevin's hand. "Accepted. Here. I think you need this right about now."

Kevin nodded, and then actually smiled at her. It was an honest and genuine smile, with no trace of the sass or snarkiness he had displayed towards her earlier. "Thanks. You know, I was down to my last round when you guys came through that door down there."

"I figured as much." Elza returned his smile. It was also an honest one on her part. "Consider it a loaner – the clip, that is, until we can find more ammo and you can reload your own."

"Well I'll be ..." Rita thought to herself. "It's about time those two started getting along." She thought this was a good opportunity to step in, and did so. "I'll bet we can find more in the SPF Office. It's the only room up here I hadn't had time to search yet."

"Well then," Kevin said, "I'd say now's the time. Care to lead the way?"

* * * * *

To Rita's great relief, as well as that of the others, there were neither zombies nor any other kind of infected in the SPF Office once they went inside. The room looked deserted, but only recently so. "I'll bet nobody's been in here since Captain Denham and the duty crew left to join the street battle earlier today," Kevin said.

"How do you know?" Elza asked.

It was an honest question, and Kevin gave an honest answer. "Because I was there. Because I was one of the few survivors. That's how I wound up at the new station, and ultimately here as well."

"Oh ..." Elza said. She could only imagine what had happened, although rumors of the disaster that had been the RPD's last big battle with the zombies had reached even Raccoon University. Both Denham's Special Police Force and the regular officers assisting them had been practically wiped out – overpowered by hordes of zombies too numerous to bring down by shotgun and machine pistol fire alone. Only a handful of officers had escaped, it was said ... and Kevin was apparently one of them. "Look, I'm sorry—"

"It's all right," Kevin said, cutting her off. "Don't worry about it." He moved quickly to the desk at the head of the room. "This is Captain Denham's," he said. "I'll bet what we need is in here."

Even as Kevin began searching the drawers of Denham's desk, Elza left him and walked over to Rita. The female RPD officer was standing in front of a picture hanging on one of the walls next to a large bulletin board. It was a group shot, depicting a group of RPD officers in various colors of tactical gear posed in front of an old Bell UH-1 Iroquois helicopter repainted in RPD colors. Elza noted with interest the names and logos that were prominent on the clothing and equipment in the photo. "RPD STARS," she said softly.

Rita suddenly seemed to take notice of her. "Oh – hi, Elza." She smiled, and pointed to a broad-shouldered and moustached man in the picture. "I used to date him, you know. That's Enrico Marini, leader of STARS Bravo Team. Or was, before he died." She gave a sad chuckle. "Did you know that I set him up with the woman he wound up marrying?"

Elza raised an eyebrow. "You just said you were dating him."

"I was," Rita said, "but I decided he wasn't right for me. We didn't have enough in common. I had a friend who worked at an office downtown - Alana Carter - who I thought would be perfect for him. That's when I switched from being his would-be girlfriend to his matchmaker." She sighed at the memory. "They were a perfect pair, too. They fit each other like a hand in a glove." She then shook her head. "It tore her up pretty bad when she found out he had died."

Kevin was still rummaging through Denham's desk, but he had been paying attention to the conversation. "Rita, I heard you'd dated every member of both STARS teams at least once, except for Barry and Ken, 'cause they were married." He looked up from his efforts and gave Rita a wicked smile. "Even Captain Wesker."

"Don't talk about him!" Rita snapped. "Bastard traitor!" She then lowered her voice a bit. "Yes, it's true. One time. But that was before I knew what he was really all about, and he was creepy even back then. I cut that one as short as possible." She now looked at Elza. "I think he got offended at that. Leastways, I hope now he did." She nodded back to the photo on the wall. "He's the reason why almost all of them are dead now, and poor Jill got put in the hospital, and Rebecca ... she ... well ...." She looked upset. "She quit the force and checked herself into a mental institution. Whatever it was that happened to her up at the mansion, it must have really gotten to her. She never would talk about it, not even to me – and I was one of her best friends." She now forced a smile for Elza's sake. "It was a real mess, Elza – trust me. Be glad you weren't involved."

Elza didn't have a clue what either Rita or Kevin were talking about, but Rita wasn't given the chance to explain further. "Well, guess what I just found?" Kevin interjected. His voice had a pleased tone, and both women turned to look at him. Kevin had his trademark smirk on his face, and in one hand he dangled a mid-sized set of keys from a leather belt clip. "I knew Captain Denham kept an extra set of station keys for SPF use only."

"That's excellent!" Elza said, as both she and Rita quickly walked over to the desk where Kevin stood. "Anything else useful in there?"

"Only this," Kevin said, holding up a letter. It was an in-station memo addressed to Captain Denham, commander of the Special Police Force.

\------------------------------

To: Jason Denham

From: Brian Irons

RE: Securing of STARS Materials

This is a direct order. As soon as you move into your new office, I want you to personally deliver all materials, paperwork, and case files that you might find concerning both the present and past activities of STARS to me at the new station. Do not inform the surviving members of STARS about this order. I have reason to believe that the integrity of their unit has been compromised, given the events of the incident at the Spencer Mansion. Please carry out this order without delay.

\------------------------------

Kevin looked at Rita. "This is dated the day after the Alpha Team survivors got back from the Spencer Mansion." He frowned, as his voice took on a bit of a sarcastic edge. "Now why would our beloved Chief Irons want to issue an order like this?"

"I think I know," Elza said. "I haven't had time to tell you guys this, but I found someone else alive upstairs." Both immediately reacted, but she held up a hand. "He's dead now. Killed himself, because he was about to turn into a zombie. I got to talk to him before he died, though. Said he was Station Chief Robert Clemons."

"Chief Clemons?!" Rita exclaimed. It was almost a half-wail, albeit softer, and everyone could hear the sorrow in her voice. "He would have been chief had not Irons been forced on us by Mayor Warren! He was a good man, and a good cop, too. Damnit all!!"

"That's what he told me," Elza replied. "He also said something else. He said he had the STARS case files locked in his personal safe, where Irons couldn't get to them, and told me how to open it. It involves solving a puzzle with the city model in his office, and the piece we need is in the Media Room." Her voice now took on a grim tone. "He also told me about Umbrella's connection to all of this, and said it was vitally important that we get those case files out of here."

"That explains this memo," Kevin said. He took another look at it, then tossed it down on the desk. "Plans within plans, and cabals within cabals. I knew Umbrella had its hooks in the RPD, but I didn't know just how deep until now." He looked at Rita. "She's right, you know. We've got the get those case files outta here." He now looked back at Elza. "If I were you, I wouldn't tell anyone else about what Chief Clemons told you. Umbrella has some rather nasty characters in its Security Service. The RPD has had dealings with them before on past cases – that's how we know. As much as we don't get along, Miss Walker, I wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

"He's right, hon," said Rita, putting a hand on Elza's shoulder. "This'll be our little secret until we get outta here. 'Kay?"

Elza nodded in reply to both. "Agreed." She also decided not to say anything to Rita about calling her hon just now. It irritated her, but that was probably just Rita's way of talking, her being from the South and all. Instead, she merely said, "What now?"

Kevin quickly thumbed through the keys on the ring, then selected one of the smaller ones. He held it up for them to see, then pointed with his other hand towards a large metal cabinet with double doors along the far wall of the SPF Office. "Now we ammo up. Let's just hope Captain Denham and the rest of his SPF boys didn't take everything with them before they left."

* * * * *

There were supplies still inside the weapons locker inside the SPF Office. In fact, there was plenty enough for all three of them, There were at least two boxes of nine-millimeter pistol ammo apiece - total 100 rounds, 50 per box - and with two more to spare. Kevin grinned as he picked up the only box of .45 ACP ammo inside. "I thought I had one left in here," he said. There was also a completely unexpected prize in the cabinet's sole center rifle storage slot. Elza pulled it out and looked it over appreciatively. "Frenchi SPAS-12 combat shotgun. Nice piece." She then offered it to Kevin. "Here. You take this. You've got the broad shoulders needed to handle its kick. It's too much for me."

Kevin nodded. "So you've fired a SPAS before."

"As part of my many little private training sessions over at the Redfields in better times," Elza said. She then turned to Rita. "Unless you want it."

"Me?" Rita said. "Oh, no! You're right – let Kevin have it. If you have trouble with something like that, imagine how lil' ol' me would deal with it."

Kevin hefted the shotgun in one hand, feeling its weight, then put one arm under its shoulder strap and slung it behind him. "I guess that settles that, then. Glad we didn't have to fight over it."

"You might want to take those shotgun shells while you're at it," Elza said, pointing to two oblong metal military-style boxes on the bottom shelf of the cabinet. "A question, if I may. What's a civilian police department doing with a military grade weapon?"

"'Cause crooks are up-arming, too," Rita said. "Been doin' it for a while now, all over the country. Like back in the 1920s, you know, when the crooks got Browning automatic rifles and tommy guns, so the police back then had to get them, too? It's kinda the same thing happening all over again. Police just can't deal with modern crooks using six-shot revolvers and old-fashioned shotguns anymore, like we used to. Modern crooks are a lot better armed than they used to be. Besides," and she lowered her voice to a confidental tone, "the RPD has a couple of genuine gun nuts working for it, and it gives them an excuse to strut their stuff."

"You mean Barry Burton and Captain Denham," Kevin said, nodding. "I had hoped to find the captain's custom grenade launcher in here – but I guess he took it with him downtown earlier today. Too bad. It would have come in handy."

"You mean that China Sea thingy?" Rita asked.

"China Lake," Elza corrected. When Kevin cocked an eye at her, she explained. "It's called a China Lake launcher because it was invented at the China Lake weapons testing facility for the U.S. Army. They never adopted it, but it's a lot better than the standard 'blooper,' or M79. That was the one they used back when my Dad was in the Army." She smiled. "A China Lake is just the sort of thing I'd expect a well-heeled and well-financed gun nut to have."

Rita looked at Kevin and he back, both sharing looks of amazement. Kevin let out a low whistle. "The lady knows her weapons," he said appreciatively.

"It may have been the same one Chris brought with him to one of our last training sessions," Elza explained. "He said he had borrowed it in order to show it to me and Claire. It was a nice piece, and its lever-action reload gave it one helluva rapid-fire punch." She looked at the remaining contents of the SPF weapons locker, then towards the office door. "You're right, Officer Ryman. We sure could use a China Lake right about now."

As the three sat around one of the desks, loading up their weapons and spare ammo clips, each talked about the experiences they had gone through in searching the other parts of the RPD. Rita told Kevin and Elza about the zombie under the window, her experiences in the Medical and Radio Rooms, and her sad encounter with the late Robert Novak.

"You say all of the radio equipment was smashed?" Kevin asked.

"Everything except these four two-ways," Rita said. She laid them out before the others. "All of 'em seem to work, and they were the only ones still on their chargers, but I don't know how long they'll last."

"Assuming they were in their charging cradles when the city power went out," Kevin mused, "that means all of them should have a full charge. I suggest we take one each. That way we can always be in contact if we get separated again."

"My idea exactly," said Rita. "What about the fourth one?"

"We'll take it anyway," Kevin responded. "Maybe we'll find another survivor who might be able to use it."

"Good luck on that," Elza quipped. "What I want to know more about is that CDC memo and those herbal powders you found in the Medical Room. May I see it?"

Rita handed it to her. "I'm sorry the rest is missing," she said. "It talked about the herbs themselves, as well as the STARS report on what they found out about them."

"Hold on a minute," Kevin said. "I think I remember seeing something back on Captain Denham's desk." The two ladies watched as he got up, walked back over to Denham's desk, then shuffled through the papers on top. After a minute or two, he extracted a folder and walked back over to them. "I think this is that STARS report that memo talks about," he said, handing it to Elza.

"It was the only thing on the captain's desk with the old STARS logo on it. That's why I remembered seeing it."

Elza read both over carefully, then looked up. "If I'm reading this correctly, then those herbal powders will neutralize the effects of the virus if we're infected. They won't cure us - we'll all still be carriers - but we won't end up becoming zombies or whatever. We'll still need proper treatment with an antivirus once we get out of here, but we'll be okay just as long as we take those herbs every time we get exposed – like right after being bitten by a zombie, or like that. They also make for one hell of a restorative, if you mix them right. Let's see ... the green ones are the actual agent, the red ones boost its effects, and the blue ones work with the green as a sort of general anti-poison and anti-toxin compound." She looked up at them. "You know, we could probably mix up more of those powders if we had those missing pages. Leastways, I know I could. I was being taught just that sort of thing in my chemistry classes at the university."

"What in the world was a girl like you doing studying chemistry?" Rita asked.

"I guess it does sound kinda weird," Elza answered, "me being a motorhead and all – but if I can do fuel mixtures, and I can, then I can mix chemicals, too. Anyway, chemistry's my major – and part of my scholarship requirement was that I take at least one course in biochemistry. That's Umbrella's Gifted and Talented Program for you. Anyway, the guy who taught the course was Dr. Peter Jenkins. He really knew his stuff."

"Jenkins?" Kevin said. He had stopped reloading his ammo clips at the mention of the name, and the other two women looked at him. "George Hamilton and his friends got a note from a Dr. Jenkins right before they left the new station." He looked at Elza. "Dr. Hamilton was one of the people with me in Jack's Bar downtown when the Outbreak went down."

"As in Dr. George Hamilton?" Elza exclaimed. Her face had assumed a pleasant expression. "He was my academic advisor. Nice guy ... and good-looking to boot," she added with a smile.

Rita chuckled. "Small world, isn't it?" She then nodded at Elza. "I guess we'd better take plenty of those powder vials with us, too, once it's time to leave. Now what happened to you? What kind of fun did you have upstairs?"

It was now Elza's turn to tell of her own adventures while searching the old RPD station. She briefly recounted to Kevin and Rita her encounter with the "fat cop" zombies, more of her encounter with Chief Clemons, finding both the main breaker box and the emergency generator, and finally about her encounter with the crows. "I've never seen such a flock of evil looking crows in all my life," Elza said with a slight shudder. "Looked like something straight out of a horror movie. Boy, was I glad to get outta there without being attacked."

"They're probably what killed your zombie cop out in the hall, Rita," Kevin said, nodding in agreement, "and what caused all the damage to the windows. They've probably gotten infected by feeding off of all the bodies in the streets and other places." He then reached up and patted the upper barrel of his SPAS-12. "Good thing we have this now."

Elza had to bite her lip not to use the opportunity to throw Kevin's earlier Thank you Captain Obvious line back at him. Instead, she paused a beat, and then said, "So I take it your plan is to head back up there?"

"We have to," Kevin replied. "We gotta get that generator started in order to open the hallway emergency shutters and repower the locks to the secured areas. Plus there's that crank handle you spotted. Might prove handy. We can get to both of them, now that we have these," and with that he held up Captain Denham's spare keys.

"That's a good idea," Elza said, "but if you've got the keys up on the roof, how are we going to get into the Boiler Room downstairs?"

The two looked at each other, and then there was a moment of silence. It was broken by Rita. "Guys, I don't like where this conversation is heading."

Elza turned to look at her. "We're going to have to split up again, Rita. It's the only way we can cover all the ground and get everything done we're going to need to do in the shortest amount of time."

"Agreed," Kevin said, "and we'll split up the keys before we go."

Elza nodded. "Another good idea. Now it's your turn. What happened to you downstairs, and how did you end up in the fix that we found you?"

Kevin now recounted in brief his adventures in the basement. He talked about the Armory and his close call in the Firing Range with the mutated police dogs. "After that, I wasn't about to risk the Kennels," he said. "I mean, I could have, but what was the point if I was going to get mauled to death just for trying? Anyway, I went down to the Parking Garage but it was locked, just as I knew it would be. After that, I didn't have anything else to do down there, so I came back up."

"Chicken," Rita said, but she made a point of smiling as she did. "Don't feel bad, Kevin. If I'd been in your shoes, I'd probably done the same thing."

"But if that was all you did," Elza said, " then why did it take you so long to get back upstairs?"

"I met company along the way," Kevin said, and with that he launched into a description of almost getting ambushed by a crimson zombie, as he termed it, at the top of the stairwell. His account ended with spotting the little girl. "I tried to chase her down, but she was too fast," he said. "She got to the Lobby door before I could. By the time I was in the Lobby after her, she was gone – and the zombies broke down the front shutter just a second or two later."

"Why didn't you double back the way you came?" Rita asked.

"Because then I would have gotten separated from you two," Kevin explained. "Besides, I'd have never made it to that other side door and gotten through it in time. There were too many and they were too fast. I needed an escape route that would be long enough to buy me enough time to stay ahead of them, and I didn't want to be cut off from you two. That's why I headed back to the upper stairwell. I wasn't counting on some of the zombies in the Lobby Office having climbed over the counter and gotten there ahead of me."

"And that's where we came in," Rita added.

Kevin nodded. "Exactly." He finished putting the last bullet into the last of his pistol clips. "There we go. All set." He set the clip down with the others in front of him, and then frowned. "I just don't get it. I mean, what's the deal with that girl? Was she here when you were here earlier, Rita?"

Rita shook her head. "Not as far as I know, Kevin. Maybe she wandered in from off the street in between the time I left with Harry and the time we all came back."

"Maybe she's been hiding here the whole time," Elza mused. "Ever since the Outbreak, that is. If she has, I'll bet she's scared to death. That would explain why she ran from you."

"That's a possibility," Kevin said. "We'll just have to keep our eyes open for her, if she pops up again. Now all we need is one more thing, and we'll be ready." With that he got up, went back over to the weapons locker, pulled something off of the bottom shelf, and then came back to Elza and Rita. He handed each of them a small black backpack that had been folded flat. "I figured the Captain would have some spares here. SPF officers normally carry spare ammo with them. Now we can, too – as well as other things."

"Now that's a good idea," Elza said, taking the offered backpack and looking it over. "I was beginning to run out of pockets myself."

"I ran out a long time ago," Rita said. "I was just fixing to say we needed a bag or something, and here you come up with two. You're wonderful, Kevin."

"Thanks."

"Know what else?"

"What?" Kevin cocked an eyebrow.

"I think you need to be the leader of our little expedition."

Kevin looked at Rita in surprise. Elza started to say something, but Rita waved her off. "I think I know what you're about to say, Elza, but forget it. Kevin's been specially prepared for this sort of thing, what with his military experience and his SWAT training and all. Well, not exactly this, but I daresay he's more qualified than any of us. You have the training - you've shown that - but you don't have his experience. Me, I have experience but not his training. Whatever any of us might think, we need to set our feelings aside and face the facts. Kevin needs to be our leader. He's the best qualified."

Both of the women looked at Kevin. He could see the calm rationalization and acceptance of the situation in Rita's face, but open doubt and a bit of antagonism in Elza's. He cleared his throat. "I wish Colonel Wilkins were here," he said. Elza raised an eyebrow, so he quickly explained. "A friend of mine, from down at Jack's Bar."

"I wouldn't exactly call him your friend," Rita said. "He never has liked you, you know. What was it he called you the other day? 'An impertinent, wet-behind-the-ears jerkass?'"

"I know," Kevin said, with a bit of embarrassment, "but we need somebody like him in a situation like this." He now looked straight at Elza. "Mark Wilkins was a colonel and combat veteran in the Vietnam War. If anybody could have been our leader, he could have. He had both the training and the experience. Unfortunately, we got separated the first night that the zombies attacked, and I didn't see him again until we met up at the new station earlier today. That's the last time Rita and I saw him, too. Mark had decided to go with Dr. Hamilton and his group back to the university to meet with that Jenkins fellow."

"Then he's as good as dead, and so are the others," Elza said evenly. "The zombies had just about overran the place when I high-tailed it out of there."

"Right," Kevin responded grimly. "That means our options on whatever we do and how we do it are as limited as our resources." He set his jaw and gave Elza a hard look. "Miss Walker, if there were someone else to take this job, I'd gladly let them have it. This isn't my sort of thing, and under normal circumstances I'd turn it down flat. But these aren't normal circumstances, as you well know, and ... and there's no one else." He smiled grimly. "I know you don't like me, and I know I rubbed you the wrong way early on. But if I'm to lead, then you need to follow. Are you willing to do that?"

Elza regarded him with a frown. She didn't say anything for a while. Rita was afraid she was going to refuse, given her apparent dislike of Kevin. After a while, though, she sighed. "I guess it can't be helped. Rita's right, Mr. Ryman, whatever I may think. You're the best qualified to be the leader of our little party. So ... what do we do next ... sir?"

"Same as before," Kevin responded promptly. "Our ultimate goal is to get out of here. We still don't have a means to leave Raccoon City, so our best bet is probably another vehicle from the Parking Garage. We're going to have to restore power before we can get in there, though, because of the door locks – and that will also allow us to get into the Armory, and have a chance to get even better equipped than we are now." He drew in a deep breath, then looked at both Rita and Elza. "We're going to have to split up again in order to find and do everything to accomplish that. Both of you know and have accepted that fact. That's good. This time I'll take upstairs, since I've got the shotgun and can best deal with those infected crows. Now ..." and as he spoke, he pulled his Kimber from its holster and handed it to Rita. "I want you to go to the first basement level. You'll need this to deal with those infected K-9s. Besides ... you're a better shot than me."

Both of Rita's eyebrows shot up. She knew how much Kevin treasured his Kimber. "Kevin ... I—"

"Please," Kevin said, "and remember. Those dogs may be infected, but they're not invincible. Besides – I don't want you taking any chances. That's why I want you to use this. Okay, Rita?"

He held her eyes with his own for a moment. She then turned away, smiling. "Okay, you big lug. And I'll be sure to return it to you – sir. Promise."

"Thank you," Kevin said. "I'll call you once I'm ready to turn on the generator. Once the power's back on, get the Armory and Parking Garage unlocked as fast as you can."

"As soon as I find a way to unlock them," Rita said. "Remember, I still gotta find the key cards for those two doors."

"That's something we'll all have to watch for as we go our separate ways," Elza added. "What's my job?"

Kevin looked at her. "You get the lower basement level." He removed and then handed her two of the keys off of Denham's key ring. "Finish up our business with the Boiler Room, and then see if there are any vehicle keys still left in the keybox. If you find either one of the key cards that Rita needs, give her a call – and I'll call both of you when the power's back on. Once it is, you should also find a way into the Cell Bay and see if there's anyone left alive in there."

"Probably not," Elza said, taking the keys, "but I'll give it the old college try, as the saying goes. Anything else?"

Kevin shook his head. "No, I think that pretty much sums it up. Restore power, get what we need, get into the areas we still can't access for anything else we need, then get the hell out of here." He smiled grimly at them both. "I'm not going to pretend this is going to be easy, and I don't like us having to split up again – but as Miss Walker pointed out, it's necessary. We need to get as much done as we can and cover as much ground as possible in the shortest amount of time if we're going to get out of here. Let's also not forget that we're better equipped now, and we better know what we're up against." He pointed across the desks. "Let's case this room one more time. I want everyone to pick up any packaged food anyone might have in their desk – candy bars, honey buns, whatever. We're probably going to need it later on."

"I wish you hadn't mentioned food," Rita said, as she and Elza got up and began searching the desks. "I haven't eaten since this morning."

"I need to pee myself," Elza said.

Rita stopped, looked at her a moment, then began to laugh. Elza looked askance at her at first, then the irony of what she had just said sank in. She too began to chuckle. Even Kevin couldn't help but smile. "Another good point," he managed to say after a bit. "I want everyone to go before we leave this floor. We might not get such a, uhmm, peaceful opportunity again. Two of us will guard the bathroom while the third does their business."

"What if there's something in the toilet?" Elza asked. It might have been an honest question, were it not for the twinkle in her eyes.

"There is," Rita said, grinning. "The rest of what I didn't spew out across the hallway floor." She shot Elza a wicked smile. "You can go first. Don't forget to flush."

Elza looked at her for a moment, then over at Kevin. "No ... I think I'll let Mr. Ryman go first. He'll be the quickest – unless ...." She shot him a stare. Kevin's respone was to shake his head. "All right then. Mr. Ryman goes first, me next, and you last, Rita. Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Ryman?"

"Eh?"

"Don't forget to raise the seat."

* * * * *

Their business in both the SPF Office and bathroom concluded, the three of them were now in the Medical Room, stocking up on herbal powders. Even though they took a fairly large amount of them, the cabinet still seemed full when they were done. Everybody had some of the vials, although Rita had the most in her backpack. She also carried most of the food they had found. It wasn't much, but it would do. "We don't know if we'll be able to get any more on the way," Kevin had pointed out earlier, "and we can't guarantee any vending machines we find will still work. We also don't want to carry a bunch of change with us. We'll need the room for other things more useful." He said nothing about the two powerless vending machines in the hallway - one of which had been overturned by something - and no one else brought up the subject, either.

They had ditched the ammo boxes after loading up their spare clips. Everybody carried their spare bullets in whatever they had available. The large metal storage cases for the shotgun shells by necessity had to go, as they were simply too big and bulky.

Right now Elza had a finger under the edge of her collar and was pulling it back from her neck. "God, but it's hot in here," she said.

"It's going to be, with you running around in something like that," Kevin said. It was meant as a matter-of-fact statement, yet his voice still carried an edge of his old ingrained sarcasm. Elza caught it and eyed him narrowly. Kevin realized what he had done. "Sorry. Just trying to make an observation."

Elza smiled. "May I make one in return?"

Kevin shrugged. "Fair enough."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

Kevin started, then shook his head, smiling as he did so. "Guess I deserved that one. All the same though – why are you running around in a long-sleeved and fairly heavy leather racing firesuit in such warm weather?"

"I thought it would make good protection against zombie attacks," Elza said. "I don't have body armor, like you."

Kevin said nothing. She had him there, and he knew it. Rita decided it was time for her to step in. "Guess it worked pretty well, huh."

"Actually, yes – for as much as I've had to put it to the test," Elza replied. She looked somewhere off in the distance, remembering, then back at Rita. "That reminds me. You know, on my way here, I saw this one lady getting chased down an alley by a half-dozen zombies, maybe more. All she had on was a blue tube top, a black mini-skirt, and boots. I wouldn't want to give you odds on how long she probably lasted."

"Well," Kevin added, "I guess zombie-proof suits aren't something you'd find in your wardrobe every day, let alone need." He closed the medicine cabinet door. "Looks like there were more than I thought there were. Guess we can always come back if we need more."

"Guess so," Rita answered. "It's kinda like having an infinite supply. You know – that horn of plenty thing?"

Suddenly Elza held up her hand, motioning for silence. Kevin and Rita stopped talking and looked at her. Elza had her head cocked and was listening ... listening for ... there it was. A muffled flapping sound, coming from outside the room. The two police officers looked at each other, then at Elza.

"Crows," Rita murmured in a low voice.

"In the hallway," Elza responded, also keeping her voice low.

"Through the broken window," Kevin followed up, also pitching his voice low. He quickly moved around the two women, placing himself between them and the Medical Room's double swinging doors. He raised his shotgun as he did so. "One of you get each door," he hissed. "When I count to three—"

"Already gotcha," Rita said, quickly moving to the door to Kevin's left. She put her left hand on the handle and held her pistol with the right. Elza had done the same at the right-hand door. Both looked at Kevin, and he nodded. His shotgun in position, he aimed it at the upper part of the door.

"One ... two ... THREE!!!"

The two women yanked the doors back, leveling their pistols as they did so. Through the now-open doorway, Kevin saw at least three crows, maybe more, fluttering around in the hallway. His SPAS-12 roared and all of them dropped at once. There were more fluttering sounds to the left. An infected crow sailed around the turn in the hallway – and straight into Kevin's next volley. No more came from that direction. The roar of the shotgun died away. There was still a fluttering sound, but it came from around the far turn, in the direction of the double doors that led to the Media Room hallway. All three of them could hear the faint sound of cawing from outside. Somehow it sounded both malevolent and frustrated at the same time.

"I say it's time we were on our way," Rita said.

"I couldn't agree more," Elza chimed in.

"All right, then," Kevin said, lowering the shotgun. "We all know what to do. Let's do it."

\------------------------------

Chapter 5 - Retread

The plan that Kevin had devised, with ample input from both Rita and Elza, counted on each of them to be able to function independently. There was so much to do, and probably more they did not know. Of what they did know, however, all bases were covered. The three of them would proceed immediately to the Media Room hallway and finish clearing it of the zombies Rita had been forced to leave in there before. They would also deal with any crows or other threats that might have come in through the now-wide-open high wall vent that was their goal. Once they reached it, Kevin would boost up both Rita and Elza so they could climb through and onto the second floor back roof. By retracing the route Rita had used to enter the building in the first place, and returning to the back door in the building's northeast corner - where the smouldering remains of Kevin and Rita's SWAT van still straddled the broken back retaining wall - they could avoid having to fight their way through the zombies that had swamped the Lobby down on the first floor. In the meantime, Kevin would make his way to the third floor, switch the building's power over to the emergency generator via the main breaker box, then head on up to the roof. He would use his newly acquired shotgun to deal with the crows on the helipad. After that he would come back down, unlock the gate across from the helipad stairs, go to and start up the emergency generator (thus restoring the building's power), and then pick up the crank handle while he was at it. The last was a contingency measure, in case the building's power went back down again for whatever reason.

Once the building's main power was restored, that would make things easier insofar as the rest of the things that all three of them still had to do. Each of them had an electronically locked area they would go to and unlock as soon as possible. Rita had given Kevin the Green Keycard she had found earlier in the Medical Room, because she was sure that it would unlock the third floor's Conference Room. It was located beyond the double doors Elza had been unable to open on her visit to the third floor, and it was where the RPD used to hold its press briefings before the move to the new station. "Novak's memo mentioned that Bernice didn't need a green card because she wasn't a reporter," Rita said. "Elza said the lock on the Conference Room door had a green stripe. I think the two are a match. Do you remember the stripe color for the lock on the Armory?"

"Uhhh, yellow," Kevin said.

"And what about the Cell Bay?" Rita asked.

"Its lock had a red stripe, and it already has power – remember?" Elza added.

"Oh, yeah," Rita answered, nodding. "I forgot."

"Careful, Rita," Kevin said, but he grinned as he did so. "Don't go getting old on me." He kept talking before the now-flustered Rita could snap back a retort. "I'm guessing there's a spare key card down on that floor somewhere as a contingency measure. I'd recheck the night watchman's desk at the bottom of the stairs first, then the Boiler Room, and then the Morgue last. We might have missed finding that card the first time we searched that desk. Since the Cell Bay lock is running off of emergency power, you can go in as soon as you get it unlocked. Speaking of locks – you got your keys?"

Elza held up the two keys from Denham's key ring that Kevin had given her earlier. "Check," she said. She immediately put them back into one of her firesuit pockets, talking as she did so. "You know, of course, that once you restore power, then that security shutter with the broken switch down there is going to come up."

"I know," Kevin said. "Can you handle it?"

"I know I can, unless they've all turned crimson by now," Elza said confidently. She nodded at Rita. "Rita's got the far tougher job, having to dealing with those infected K-9s you left for her."

Kevin started to say something, but Rita cut him off before he could speak. "Well, given what happened to this young man here," Rita said, with a bit of a friendly edge in her voice, "most of them should still be in the Firing Range. I'll start shooting as soon as I go in there, and I won't stop 'till they're all down." She patted Kevin's Kimber in her new second holster. "My little boomstick here should be able to deal with them well enough."

"Don't get too carried away shooting it," Kevin said. "Like you warned me earlier, Rita, what we have is all the .45 ACP ammo we're probably going to get." He frowned. "I wish I had put more ammo for my gun in the SPF Office locker back when I had the chance."

"Can't be helped," Elza said. "We'll just have to make do with the ammo we've got."

"'We must use the tools that we have,'" Rita said, sotto voce. Both Kevin and Elza looked at her. "Abraham Lincoln. It's one of my favorite sayings of his."

"Sounds like he knew what he was talking about," Elza answered with a smile.

As it turned out, the last remaining crow in the hallway had chosen to fly out the window, instead of getting blown away by Kevin like its fellows. Kevin let it go. The zombies in the Media Room hallway - or Archive Hallway, as it was officially called - were a more pressing concern. Kevin had been right to worry, because one of the remaining zombies in there had indeed turned crimson since the time that Rita had ran through its double doors. What did surprise the trio, as they found out later, was that it had already taken out the other three zombies before Rita returned with Kevin and Elza. Because of that, clearing out the Archive Hallway had proved surprisingly easy. As before at the Medical Room, Elza and Rita had each taken position on either side of one of the doors, one hand on their respective handle and the other holding their pistol. Kevin positioned himself squarely in front of the door, SPAS-12 shotgun leveled and ready. At Kevin's signal, the two women had thrown open the doors simultaneously and then ducked down low, pistols raised and at the ready. Instead of finding possibly as many as four crimsons waiting to pounce on them, however, they only saw one – and it was just as surprised by their sudden arrival as they were of its lone presence. It had been busy munching on one of its former fellows at the turn of the hallway. It had just enough time to turn its head at the sound of the opening doors, contort its face into a nasty grimace, and begin a vicious half-snarl before a spray of closely spaced shotgun pellets, escorted by two nine-millimeter pistol bullets, ripped into its head. The thing never had a chance.

The three humans lowered their weapons. Without another word, they walked down the hallway, carefully stepping around the two bodies and spreading pool of blood at the first turn, then down the hall and to the high vent. There were two other bodies farther down towards the Media Room door, but they wouldn't be reviving any time soon ... what was left of them, that is. Fortunately, none of them were near enough the vent to pose any potential problem.

Rita looked up at the vent. "Gawd," she said, "I didn't realize it was that high up."

"You were probably on an adrenaline high when you came in," Kevin said. He stepped up to the vent and positioned himself directly under it. He then put his hands together, interlocking his fingers as he did so, and nodded to the two women. "Okay, who wants to be first?"

"I was first in," Rita said. "Guess I'll be first out."

"Better watch out for those crows," Elza warned.

Rita walked up to Kevin. She smiled at him, while at the same time putting both of her hands on his shoulders. He smiled back. "Ups-a-daisy," he said, and with a single motion lifted her up. He didn't have any trouble at all lifting her, even with her heavy backpack, and she grabbed the edges of the open vent as soon as she was high enough.

"Got it," she said. "Can I stand on you a minute?"

Kevin now shifted position, so Rita could put her feet on his shoulders. She carefully edged her head out of the vent, and then looked around in all directions. She then pulled it back in. "I don't see any crows," she said, keeping her voice low and looking down at her companions. "Guess we're far enough down from the edge of the helipad not to stir them up."

"Let's don't do anything else to provoke them, okay?" Elza said. "I don't want to take any more chances than necessary."

"Agreed," Rita said. She got a firm grip on the outer edge of the vent hole. "Ready, Kevin?"

"Ready," Kevin said, grasping Rita's ankles. "Here you go ...."

With that he pushed upward – firmly but not too swiftly, doing his best to maintain a steady yet even motion. Rita had correctly divined his intent, and used the momentum that he gave her to pull herself out of the vent hole. She dropped down on the crated HVAC unit below with hardly a sound save for a soft whump! There was a caw or two, and a fluttering of wings, and at those everybody froze ... but nothing more. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Kevin now turned to Elza and cupped his hands, once again making a step for her as he had for Rita. "All right, Miss Walker. You're next."

The maneuver was carried out as quickly and professionally as one might expect. Elza made it through the high vent hole in the same manner as did Rita, and dropped down beside her on the HVAC crate. Again, there was a caw or two and some fluttering of wings at the soft whump! she made when she came down on the crate, but nothing more. Elza had also noted, and with considerable relief, that Kevin had not put his hands on her anywhere that he hadn't needed to while he was helping her up and out of the vent hole. It looked like there was hope for him after all.

"We're all set," Rita said, not too loudly but loud enough for Kevin to hear. "We're on our way."

"Good," Kevin answered back. "Let me know on the radio how you do. Later." And with that he was gone. They heard him turn around and walk away down the Archive Hallway, his footsteps growing softer until he made the turn in the hall. After that, they couldn't hear him any more.

Rita sighed, then looked at Elza. "Okay," she half-whispered. "Let's get down and back in as soon as we can."

Elza nodded. She didn't much care for the outside, with them now fully exposed to whatever the Outbreak could hurl at them. She followed Rita off the crate, then around the second floor roof to its back edge.

Rita stopped at that point, then turned and pointed to another high grate in the wall directly behind them. "Look familiar?"

Elza studied it for a minute. "No," she admitted.

"That's the vent that was in the SPF Office." Rita said.

"Oh ...!" Elza answered, suddenly realizing what Rita was driving at. "So next time—"

"—if we had a means of getting it open, we could just come that way," Rita finished for her. "That's why Kevin didn't bring up the subject before. We don't have the tools to remove it, and it's too high for us to force open from this side." She then motioned to the back edge of the roof. "There's another HVAC crate down there. Let yourself down off the ledge as far as you can, and then drop down on it. We'll make less noise that way."

Elza did as she was told. Rita followed suit, and soon the two of them were standing by the back door of the RPD. Rita then turned and looked in the direction of the still-smouldering SWAT van in which she and Kevin had arrived. Elza followed her gaze, and it soon came to rest on what was left of a charred body half-hanging out of its seat through the open driver's side door of the van. It was then that it hit her – the smell, that is. Not that it hadn't been there before, of course, but the urgency of their haste had caused her mind to shut it out. Now she took it in ... and almost gagged. As she would recall later,

It was like after this barn fire one of our neighbors had when I was younger. Some of the animals had been trapped inside, and they had burned with the barn. That's what it smelled like.

She saw Rita's lower lip tremble briefly, and then quit – as if stopped by sheer will alone. Rita abruptly turned away from the sight and towards the back door. "C'mon," she said, her voice strained, as if she were trying not to cry. "Let's get inside."

* * * * *

As soon as both women were safely through the high vent - or as safely as they could be, given the circumstances - Kevin had turned and headed back towards the main hall double doors at a trot. He had a lot of ground to cover, and he intended to do it in as short a time as possible. He passed through the double doors into the second floor main hallway, then around the turn and through the fire door to his left into the stairwell hall. From there, it was two quick left turns and around the non-functioning elevator to the stairwell door.

Kevin exited the third floor stairwell door with gun drawn and at the ready. He remembered Elza's account of what had happened to her up here before, and wasn't about to take any chances. Fortunately, the stairwell hall was as deserted as it had been for her. He came to the side door that opened directly into the Chief's Office, read the sign, and then tried the handle anyway. It was locked, as he had expected. There was always the other door, of course, but it wasn't that he had any pressing need to go in there right now, anyway – what with ... well ... never mind. It didn't matter anymore. None of them needed to go back in there again until they had the missing city building piece to complete the scale model and thus unlock the chief's safe, in order to recover the STARS case files inside. Once they did, that would be the last visit for any of them. Yes ... the Chief's Office could hold ... for now.

Kevin came into the third floor main hallway the same way as he had entered the stairwell hall – gun drawn and at the ready. Near darkness and utter silence greeted him. He stood still for a moment, getting his bearings and letting his eyes adjust to the ambient light. Main hallway to his left, short end and the Conference Room doors to his right. The latter could keep until power came back on, due to their non-functioning electronic lock. That left only one way to go, and that was to his left ... past the body of the first "fat cop zombie" that Elza had downed ... on to the end of the hall and the next turn, where lay the second body near the door to the Chief's Office. Kevin found that he still had to fight the urge to stop and go in there, even though he had no real reason for doing so. He knew what he would find, and he didn't want to see it. He didn't want it to be real. He didn't want Robert Clemons to be dead. Like Rita had said, he had been a good man and a good cop. Instead, Kevin forced the thought out of his mind and went on around the turn, down the short distance to the end of the hall, where both the breaker box and the door to the roof were there to greet him. He looked around one more time, just to make sure that the body nearest to him on the floor wasn't showing any signs of reviving or transforming, and then opened the breaker box.

Elza had started making small talk with Rita as soon as the two of them were back inside. It was safe enough, with this part of the building already cleared by Kevin, and Elza sensed the need for Rita to get her mind off of the dead friend she had left outside in the burned SWAT van. "You know, Rita," she began, "you're awfully young to be a cop."

Rita had started and given her a stare, and then laughed in spite of herself. "Me? Young? Just how old do you think I am, young lady?"

Those words and the tone in Rita's voice that came with them brought Elza up short. She couldn't be ... no, she didn't look it. "Mid-twenties?" she guessed.

 

Rita now actually grinned. "I'll take that as a complement, but you're wrong. Guess again."

Elza absentmindedly scratched her head without realizing it. "Uhhh ... late twenties?"

"Closer." The two of them were now almost at the basement stairwell door. "I'm not quite old enough to be your mother. I'm thirty-three."

"Good lord," Elza said. "You don't look it."

Rita stopped at the fire door to the stairwell, and then looked at Elza, her hand on the handle. "Daddy said I took after my Momma's side of the family, save her hair was jet black and I have Dad's blonde locks. He was always calling her a Nile Valley beauty, back when both of 'em were still alive. I looked it up once I got the chance. It means that those women who are like that could be any age between their teens and late middle age, and no one could hardly tell the difference."

"I'd say he was right," Elza said, and she meant it. "Except for the hair, I'd say you definitely take after your mom. I wish I was like that. I'm more like Dad than Mom, what with my freckles and blond hair and all. Knowing my luck, I'll probably age before my time."

"Well, you look just fine now, hon," Rita said reassuringly, then nodded at the stairwell door. "Be ready all the same." She hadn't forgotten what had happened to Kevin here earlier.

Elza pulled her gun and pointed it at the door. Rita yanked it open, moving with it to one side in order to keep clear of Elza's pistol. The top of the stairwell was empty. Not a sound could be heard from within. "Looks clear," Elza said, lowering her weapon.

"Then let's go," Rita said, and together the both of them entered the stairwell.

The pair abruptly stopped a few feet beyond the door when a familiar wail suddenly sounded up the shaft. Behind them, the door slowly swung closed on its hydraulic hinge and clicked shut. Both of them had whipped up their pistols as soon as the sound began, and they now stood there in almost identical firing stances, aiming at ... what? There was nothing there but the sound. It faded and died, but was soon enough replaced by a strange shuffling and clawing sound. Both had come from below them, so the source must be at the bottom of the stairwell. Rita looked at Elza, and the younger woman nodded. They were already leaning over the railing looking down by the time the wail started again.

What they saw down at the bottom of the stairwell was something completely unanticipated. Then again, Kevin had told them that he had thrown one of his attackers down the stairs when he had last been in there, so maybe it should not have been. The second crimson zombie that had tried to ambush Kevin had by now revived, and was desperately trying to make its way back up the stairwell in order to attack them. It had apparently heard them come in and had planned to attack; however, its current physical condition precluded any possibility of that ever happening. Any progress it might have made was stymied by the fact that all four of its limbs were broken. All it could do was try to flop up the stairs, but that got it nowhere. It couldn't reach with its broken arms to pull itself up, and it couldn't brace itself with its broken legs to push its way up the stairs. All it could do was lift its head to look at them, then began screaming like a banshee while heaving up and down like a half-dead fish on dry land, trying and failing to wave its broken arms at them. It was a pitiful sight, even for a zombie.

"Is that how all of us are going to end up?" Elza said aloud, in a tone that was both quiet and thoughtful.

As if in response to Elza's thought, Rita pointed her Beretta down the shaft and fired three times in rapid succession. The wail was suddenly cut off by a half-screech, half-gurgle, as the thing's head jerked with the impact of each bullet. After the third bullet had hit home, the thing sunk to the floor and its bloodied head lolled to one side. Rita looked at Elza, her face set and grim. "Not if I can help it," she said evenly, and then she holstered her pistol.

* * * * *

Kevin closed the breaker box. Everything was set here. The RPD building's electrical system was now switched over from city power - or the total absence thereof - to the emergency generator. All he had to do now was get to it, get it started, and somehow survive what he figured would happen next.

He was very slow and careful in first opening the rooftop door, checking to see if any crows were hiding nearby to ambush him, then easing himself through it and closing the door quietly behind him. Nothing disturbed him ... and yet, he too felt the same uneasy feeling of being watched, just as Elza had described. Primal instinct, perhaps? Kevin shook off the thought. He had a job to do. The sooner he did it, got the RPD's power restored, and got back in touch with the others, the better.

Now that he was actually on the scene, Kevin decided on a slight change in plans. The first thing he did was to carefully unlock the gate using one of the keys on Captain Denham's key ring, then carefully uncoil the chain so he could get the gate open. He would stop and go for his shotgun every time he heard a rustling of feathers or a cawing sound, but no infected crows flew down to disturb him. After a while, he had the chain off and was through the gate.

The next thing Kevin did was to check both the emergency generator and its fuel supply. The generator seemed to be in good shape; however, its fuel tanks were empty. That wasn't like Chief Clemons, he thought. It was standard operating procedure to have fuel for the generator in case of an emergency – and the Outbreak certainly qualified as one. Not having anything else to do, he walked over to the crank handle Elza had spotted earlier. He was just about to pick it up when he saw that it was sitting on top of a folded piece of paper. Keeping his shotgun in his gun hand, Kevin carefully extracted the folded paper out from under the crank handle with the other. Still using one hand, he unfolded the paper and read it.

No diesel? Sorry, men. Orders of our new chief. If you're reading this, though, then an emergency is underway and you now know just how stupid his order was. Go up the stairs and look for a valve handle that I've hidden in the northwest corner of the helipad. You need it to turn the bypass valve for the avgas tanks secondary feed line that I've had Maintenance install because of this stupid order. After that, you'll have fuel to run the generator. Clemons.

Kevin smiled as he refolded the paper and put it in one of his pockets. "Even in death, he's still watching out for us," he said, shaking his head. "Gawd, but I wish you had lived, Chief."

A few seconds later, Kevin was ascending the metal stairs to the helipad with careful deliberateness, shotgun at the ready. As he came up to and past its edge, he could see the flock of crows perched on all of the handrails along its far edges – just as Elza had described. All of them were watching him with baleful red eyes. They seemed to know what he intended to do. All they were doing was waiting for him to begin. His was the first move. All he had to do was take it. After that, it would be their turn – and then it would be all over for the human. Not if he could help it. He glanced about with his eyes, taking in the scene, remaining frozen in a tense stance on the platform at the top of the stairs, directly in front of the gate that broke the line of the safety railing on the helipad's north side. "I need room to maneuver," he thought to himself. "Fighting them out here is too cramped." With that, he took two careful steps forward and stopped directly in front of the gate. One crow cawed and another briefly flapped its wings, but otherwise they did nothing except continue to stare. Kevin later recalled his impressions of the situation.

It was like staring into the mouth of a lion. You know it's going to try to bite your head off, but you've got to do it all the same. That's the scary part – both the knowing and the doing.

With deliberate care, Kevin lifted one foot and nudged the helipad gate with his knee. It didn't budge. He looked at it more carefully. Ahhh, there it was – a latch on one side that held it shut. No lock, fortunately. That was something - a very small something - but he was going to have to take one hand off of his shotgun to work the latch and open the gate. If he had to fire that SPAS-12 with only one hand gripping it ....

Kevin smiled at the crows. They continued to stare at him, doing nothing. He then relaxed his hand on the shotgun's pump and slowly lowered it. It went down, ever so slowly, until it was even with the latch on the gate. Suddenly Kevin's fingers moved, and the latch clicked. The gate swung open ...

... and then all hell broke loose on the helipad.

* * * * *

The two women stopped at the landing to the upper floor of the basement. Rita looked at Elza for a moment, and then gave her a hug. "Take care, girl," she said with a smile. "I wanna see you on the other side of this."

"You, too," Elza replied, returning Rita's hug with one of her own.

The two let go and looked at each other for a long moment. It was Elza who finally nodded towards the door, while at the same time reaching for her pistol. Rita did likewise. Elza covered her from the open angle while Rita abruptly opened the door. Nothing. They were greeted by gloom and silence. Both women relaxed somewhat, but still held their guns at the ready. Elza nodded at Rita, and she nodded in return. With that, the older woman was through the open door and into the hall. The door slowly closed behind her. Elza was now alone.

The young woman made her way down to the bottom of the stairwell. The body of the crimson zombie that Rita had shot to death earlier was still there. It was twitching - a sure sign that the T-virus would try to revive it sometime soon - but with not much of a head left, and no functional limbs of which to speak, it wouldn't be able to do much to anyone in the way of directed harm save gnash them to death. That would be enough, though, given the power of the T-virus. That was why Elza gave it a wide berth, as she moved around it and to the back of the stairwell, and to the keybox on the wall next to the night watchman's desk. She fished the first of the two keys Kevin had given her out of her pocket and tried it in the keybox's lock. It clicked open.

Neatly arranged inside the keybox were a series of hooks with various sets of keys on them. Each had a different label – SWAT VAN 1, PATROL CAR 1, and so on. Some were fairly simple, such as TRUCK. Elza would later learn that it belonged to the pickup truck used both by the building's custodian and by police officers for various on- and off-duty purposes. One hook with a set of keys in the bottom right corner of the keybox had an unusual inscription above it: WATER KEY. Elza had no idea what this meant, but thought it might be a good idea to ask later. She took none of the keys at this time, although she had the feeling she would be coming back for at least one set or more of them later – once it was time to leave the RPD building for good.

Another thing Elza found inside the keybox was a box of nine millimeter pistol ammo. She didn't take it, as she already had plenty, but she noted the location in her mind in the event she had to come back for it. The second thing she found, hanging on a hook on the left side, was something both unexpected and welcome. It was a small flashlight. Elza checked it out at once, turning it on and flashing it around the bottom of the stairwell. The batteries seemed to have a good charge – hopefully a full one, as there weren't any spares to be seen. She now looked through the night watchman's desk again, hoping to find some tape (or that keycard she still needed), but all she found was an empty tape dispenser in one of the drawers. "Damn," she muttered under her breath. She had hoped to tape the flashlight to the barrel of her pistol and thus keep both hands free while she searched. Her efforts had been just as fruitless as before, and not even the old-fashioned desk blotter that sat on top of the desk had yielded the key card she needed for the Cell Bay. Her boss at her part-time mechanic's job at the Stagla station downtown often stuck all sorts of pictures, notes, letters, and such both in and under his blotter, as if it were a flat filing cabinet of sorts. No such luck here. The only things she had gained so far were access to all of the vehicle keys in the still-locked Parking Garage, the ammo and flashlight, and finding that mysterious Water Key. They would have to do for now. The flashlight would prove its usefulness immediately - given that the power was still down in the building - and the vehicle keys would prove useful later. As for the Water Key, well ... "Everything in its own good time, as Dad might say," Elza thought. After removing the flashlight and putting the loop it had on one end around her left wrist, Elza closed the keybox and went to the stairwell door.

Knowing what she might face on the other side, Elza first put her ear up to the door and listened. No movement. The door suddenly flew open, and Elza emerged in a modified policeman's firing stance, just as Chris Redfield had taught her to do – bracing her gun hand with the one holding the flashlight, with it turned up so that its beam ran parallel to her weapon and illuminated any potential target, then swept both ends of the hall with both aimed gun and lit flashlight. Nothing. No sound, no movement, and no visible enemies. Still maintaining her modified carry, with both gun and flashlight before her, Elza began moving down the darkened lower basement hallway towards the Boiler Room.

* * * * 

Before she did anything else, Rita swept the upper basement hallway from one end to the other. She found the pile of bodies where Kevin had been busy not far from the door to the Kennels. None were twitching, but whether that was a good sign or not Rita couldn't guess. There were none at the other end of the hall near the Parking Garage door; however, there were a large and rather nasty series of what appeared to be bloodstains on the floor between it and the T-junction in the hallway. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Rita couldn't imagine what else it might be, given the situation.

She checked the locks on both the Parking Garage and Armory doors in that order. Unlike the one on the Cell Bay door one floor below, these had no power. It was just as well, she mused to herself. She still didn't have any way to open them. That left only two places where she could go ... and given Kevin's recollection of his earlier visit to this part of the basement, she wasn't looking forward to either one of them. The first of these was to her right, immediately around the turn within the same short hallway where the Armory door was located. Rita looked down the darkened hallway for a moment, and then sighed. "May as well get this over with," she muttered. She pulled Kevin's Kimber from its holster, and then went to the Firing Range door.

One of the infected K-9s was already on its feet and leaping for the door when she thrust it open. It had been resting in the second closest firing booth, and thus had probably heard her approach from outside. The other two were in the firing range proper, and were just now stirring. Rita didn't have time to think about them, what with the instant threat of the first dog already almost upon her. She immediately fired at point-blank range. There was a sound almost like a half-yelp, half monkey-screech as the first K-9 jerked off to one side from the impact of the heavy .45 ACP slug tearing through its head. The remains of the top half of its head splattered away in all directions as the first K-9 fell, but Rita ignored it. She now let her training take over, and moved into action with all the precision of a well-oiled machine at its task. She was already through the side access beside the firing booths and firing at the other two infected K-9s beyond even as they had finally come to their feet and begun to dash towards her. Her first shot put down the first one. It didn't kill it outright, but it wounded it enough in one leg so that it skittered and staggered aside, now no longer able to attack her outright. The remaining K-9 proved to be more trouble, however. It immediately ran off to one side and then began to run along the walls, trying to circle around so it could attack her from behind, and from where the bullets from Rita's gun hopefully couldn't find it. Rita held her fire but followed it in turn, always circling and keeping the dog within the sights of her aimed gun, and letting it know that it wasn't about to get away with the ambush that it was attempTing. They danced this deadly little dance for several rounds, until the wounded K-9 decided it was high time that it joined in the fun, too. In its latest attempt to circle around behind Rita, the uninjured K-9 came within easy reach of its wounded comrade. The injured second dog promptly tried to attack its former partner, although its damaged leg prevented it from doing so effectively. The uninjured K-9's concentration on Rita was thus broken as it suddenly had to deal with this unexpected threat ... and that opening gave Rita her chance. The Kimber roared, and the formerly uninjured K-9's head jerked to one side as a spray of blood and brain matter splattered the wall behind it. It collapsed to the floor and moved no more. The wounded K-9 immediately dragged itself over to its fallen comrade and began to tear at its remains. One last roar from Kevin's Kimber, and then it too joined its fallen comrades on the floor.

Rita stood absolutely still for a while, even as the echoes of her final shot rang around the Firing Range and then died away. There was no other sound to be heard. It was way too quiet for her liking. If the other K-9 dogs that should have been in the Kennels were still there, then they were probably playing possum. Best to take the chance now that had been denied Kevin earlier, although she felt caution was still warranted. Still holding Kevin's Kimber in her gun hand, she moved back to the other side of the firing booths and to the storage shelves at the back of the room. The vent to the Kennels hung open to her right high up the wall, but no sound came from it. Where were the other K-9s? Keeping the vent in the corner of her vision at all times, she went over to the storage shelves, then gripped and picked up the shotgun. No shoulder sling, as Kevin had said. That might prove a problem. She stuck it between the slings of her backpack, hooking its pistol grip around the top ones so that it would remain there, and then pulled out and keyed her radio. "Elza? Rita here."

There was a pause, and then a crackle. "Elza here. How'ya doing?"

"Firing Range is clear, and I've now got the shotgun Kevin couldn't get earlier. How 'bout you?"

"I've got access to the Boiler Room and it's now clear, too. Right now I'm standing in front of a big power cabinet with an open door, with a bunch of breakers and switches inside. I'm guessing it routes all of the power down here in the basement, like the breaker box I saw upstairs on the third floor."

"Sounds like you're doin' good, girl."

"You, too."

There was silence for a bit. "Hey, Elza .... We should have heard from Kevin by now."

"I know."

"You think anything's happened to him?"

'If it has, there's not much we can do about it, is there?"

Both of them stopped speaking. A few seconds later, their radios crackled and a third voice cut in. It was Kevin. "Don't let me ruin the suspense for you, ladies."

"Kevin!" Rita's excitement was clear despite the radio distortion.

Elza herself also felt relieved. "Sounds like you succeeded."

The radio crackled, and then Kevin spoke again. "Yeah ... but it was one helluva fight. Emptied my shotgun twice while doing it. Wound up having to finish off the stragglers with pistol rounds, because reloading my shotgun on the run was proving too difficult. Do you know how hard it is to reload a shotgun with only one hand while running from a pack of rabid crows coming at you from all directions?. Anyway, they're dead now and I've gotten to the generator. It's all fueled up and ready to go. And I got that crank handle, too."

"Good job, Kevin," Rita said, "but why bother with that crank handle? We shouldn't need it now, since you're fixing to turn the power back on."

"It's not going to all come back on at once," Elza said. "I found another set of breakers in the Boiler Room, Kevin."

"Figures," crackled Kevin's voice over the radio. "You think it's something they added, Rita?"

The radio crackled again. "Probably, when they remodeled the building a while back to put in the Medical Room on the second floor. I think that's when Chief Clemons had them put in the new electronic lock system, too. That would explain the second set of breakers."

"Well, I've already got the breaker box up here switched over. What's going to happen as soon as I turn on the generator?"

"Partial power, would be my guess," Elza cut in. "You'll probably get power to the upper floors only. Both basement floors will stay dark until I throw the right breakers down here. I'll still be able to get into the Cell Bay, provided I can find the keycard for the door – and I haven't yet. It's got its own independent power supply, remember. Even so, I still won't be able to raise that shutter to get to the Morgue without either turning the power back on or using that crank handle you've got, Kevin. And you, Rita, won't be able to do anything at all."

"Not exactly," Rita said, her voice occasionally mixed with static. "All that means is that I can't get into either the Armory or Parking Garage. I haven't tried the Kennels yet."

"Is that a good idea?" Kevin asked. "How many .45 shells do you have left?"

"Enough," Rita said, "but I won't need them. I managed to get that shotgun you left behind earlier. It's fully loaded, too. I should do all right, provided I don't get mauled right off the bat – and I don't intend to, either."

"So ... what now, Kevin?" Elza asked.

"I'm going to go ahead and get the generator going," Kevin said. "Once the power's back on, I'll make sure I have that hand crank and then make my way back down to you. On the way, I'll try to explore the areas we couldn't access before due to the power situation. Rita, as soon as Elza throws the breakers down there and restores the power, see if you can find that other keycard. It's probably somewhere in the Firing Range. After that, go ahead and try the Armory, then the Kennels next, and then finally the Parking Garage. Elza ... you may still have the toughest job left. Morgue and Cell Bay – and you know what's waiting for you on the way to the Morgue."

"Yeah ... right." Elza stuck out her tongue at the radio, even though she knew the other two couldn't see her. She then spoke again. "Okay, I'm ready – leastways as ready as I'll ever be. Lucky for you I'm standing right in front of that power cabinet down here, Kevin. Ready whenever you are."

"I still don't see why we need that hand crank," Rita said.

"Who knows?" Elza said. "We might need it later. For example, if all of these security shutters work the same way, and the electric motor to one is burned out or doesn't work elsewise, we'll still need that crank to raise it."

"My thoughts exactly," responded Kevin. "All right, then. Let's do it."

There was a pause of just under a half-minute before the radio sounded again. This time, there was the definite sound of a loud diesel motor stroking away in the background as Kevin spoke. "Okay, generator's on, and the service lights are now on over by the rooftop door. I'm guessing that upstairs has power. Your turn, Elza."

With one eye on the rest of the room as best she was able and still keeping her pistol in her gun hand, ready should any of the supposedly dead zombies in the room decided it was time to revive, Elza reached into the power cabinet with her free hand. She pulled the main basement breaker, and was rewarded by the lights instantly coming on in the Boiler Room. She eyeballed the rest of the lesser breakers, then picked up her radio again and notified the others. "Basement power's on. Looks like the other breakers are already set the way they should be. I'm glad I didn't have to figure them out. Would have made one hell of a puzzle."

"Like in those videogames?" came Kevin's voice over the radio.

Elza bit her lip. She couldn't tell if Kevin was just being funny, or only being his usual smartass self. "Yeah," she finally managed to say, then changed the subject. "Rita, what about you?"

"Firing Range and hallway lights are on," came the reply over the radio. "I'm going to try to get into the Armory first, like you said, and once I find its keycard, since it's closest. All right, Kevin?"

"Fine with me. Elza, you ready to deal with your friends out there?"

"Yeah," Elza said. "I'm going to take care of them first, do whatever I need to do in the Morgue, then head for the Cell Bay. I'm going to come back here before I leave the basement, though. There's some storage shelves and what looks like a tool bench on the other side of the boiler that I couldn't search properly before, what with it being dark in here and having to deal with the zombies inside. I'll bet there's some things there we can use – but I'd prefer to deal with those shutter zombies first. I'm willing to bet that broken shutter popped open as soon as I switched the power back on. That means they're going to be all over the hallway now."

"You be careful, girl – okay?," Rita said. "Don't take any unnecessary chances."

"And you, too," Elza said. "You better be ready, in case there are any dogs left down on that level."

"And I'll be careful, too," Kevin added cheerfully. This time, it was obvious he was joking. "Kevin, out."

"Rita, out."

Elza slipped her radio back into her pocket. She made sure she had a full clip in her gun and that a round was already chambered. She then headed for the Boiler Room doors. She glanced briefly at the now well-lit tool bench and storage area to her right. "Save you for later," she muttered to herself. "Time to rock and roll." With that, she flung open the doors and raced out in a combat crouch, gun raised and at the ready.

* * * * *

There were certain disadvantages to being small, Rita thought to herself, as she looked up at the target trackway high overhead. She could clearly see a yellow RPD key card stuck up inside the trackway rail for the second tracked target in the Firing Range. She never would have seen it had not power been restored and the lights come back on – and even then, she had spotted it only by being at the right place at the right time and seeing the light reflect off of its glossy surface. Why it was there and how it got there in the first place she didn't know, and frankly she didn't care. All she knew was that it was the key card she needed to unlock the Armory, and that she couldn't reach it.

One look at the back of the Firing Range was all that Rita needed to let her know there was nothing that could help her there. The only thing in sight was a thick berm of bullet-resistant material that had been piled against the far wall almost to the ceiling, and ran the full length of the wall. Rita now looked toward the front of the range, where the shooter's booths and both the storage cabinets and shelves were located. Here there were possibilities, however faint. She supposed she could always empty one of the units against the wall, drag it out to the other end of the Firing Range, position it under the trackway, and then climb up onto it. That solution seemed far too complicated, though, and whoever stuck that key card up there must have had a far easier means in mind for getting it out again. If only she could figure out what it was!

Suddenly she had an idea. Rita walked back around to the shooter's booths, and went into the booth whose tracked target ran along the trackway with the key card inside. "It's a good thing the power's back on," she thought to herself, as she flipped the switch to move the target. "I'd never be able to get it out like this." As designed, the target moved up its ceiling track towards Rita's booth. When it reached the point where the key card had been stuck up inside the trackway, it jerked for a moment but kept on moving. Even as the jerking motion subsided, and the target continued to move forward in its track, the key card popped out from behind it and fell to the floor.

Rita ran back around to the range proper, and made a beeline for the fallen key card. She scooped it up at once and held it before her. "Well, that's that," she declared aloud with a grin. "Now it's time to visit the Armory."

* * * * *

Kevin stood in the middle of the empty Conference Room on the RPD's third floor. His first stop on his way back down through the building had already turned into something of a bust. There was nothing obviously useful in plain sight inside the room, the biggest on the third floor, save for a single box of nine millimeter bullets and another of shotgun shells. Both went immediately towards his depleted ammo supplies. He then took the time to survey and search the room. It had a large briefing table in its approximate center, with comfortable wheeled chairs around, and alongside the walls were various storage cabinets, shelving units, and a mid-sized portable podium with a large RPD logo emblazoned on its front panel. There was also a large wheeled metal media cart, and on it sat both a large old-fashioned picture tube television and a video cassette recorder. Both were obviously there for the room's use. Another wheeled cabinet, this time of press board with faux wood trim, held or had sitting on top of it four different things: a microwave, a coffee machine, a pot of coffee, and a box of doughnuts. Kevin refrained from sampling either the coffee or doughnuts, as he guessed both had been sitting there for quite a while. The two walls that made up the southeast corner of the room were dominated by large curtained windows that ran for their entire length, from the corner by the double doors where he had first come in all the way around the next corner. There was a large potted plant at the end by the double doors, and a stand with a telephone on it. Like all of the other phones in the building, the line was dead when he picked up the receiver to check it out.

A quick search of the various cupboards and cabinets revealed only a box of small, tape-backed bandages and a first aid spray. He took both, as he didn't have any medical supplies on him of any kind save for the herbal vials. Other than that, there was nothing else to find. He stood up from the cabinet where he had found them, closed its doors, then turned and looked out of one of the windows running along the south wall of the room. Normally it would have offered a beautiful panorama of uptown Raccoon City, either by day or night. Instead, it showed a scene straight out of a Hieronymous Bosch painting – alternating patches of darkness and fire, with occasional scenes straight from hell playing out on what few intersections and street corners were lit enough to be seen. Kevin shook his head, then turned to the other door in the room. It was in a short hallway-like alcove in its northwest corner. Strange ... he didn't recall seeing a matching doorway in the third floor's main hallway. He went to it and opened it, and was greeted both by the night sounds of the Outbreak and a series of steel bracing girders, looking almost directly across at the outside of the main hallway's rooftop exit door. He had not tried the door under the helipad stairs before. Then again, he had been kinda busy at the time.

Kevin stepped out, looked around, and grunted. "Wish I'd noticed this earlier. It would have saved me a lot of trouble." He heard the door swing shut behind him on its hydraulic hinge, then frowned as he heard its lock click. He turned about and tried the door. It wouldn't budge. The lock appeared to be broken.

"Damnit," Kevin muttered, as he made his way quickly to the other rooftop door instead.

* * * * *

The Armory door chimed as the card lock accepted Rita's new yellow-striped keycard. There was a hissing sound, accompanied by the clicks of multiple hydraulic bolts being withdrawn, and then the door slid open on a hidden rail. Rita had just enough time to glance inside and see the infected K-9 rise to its feet before she had Kevin's gun up and firing. Two heavy .45 ACP slugs slammed into the creature, knocking it halfway across the Armory. It tried to struggle to its feet again, but a third put it down for good.

Rita realized she was holding her breath. She let it out in a long whhhhewwww! and lowered Kevin's gun. "That's one more," she said aloud, As she moved into the Armory, she wondered how it had gotten in there. Somebody must have lured it in and shut the door, then locked it – trapping it inside. But who? And what had happened to him, or perhaps even her? Those were questions that would probably forever remain unanswered, Rita realized, as she stopped in the middle of the Armory and looked around.

The place had been ransacked. That much was obvious from the way many of the emptied ammo boxes and cases were sitting on the mostly empty shelves. Every one of them was either askew or leaning to one side. Not surprisingly, all of the pistol and rifle racks were empty, too. Some diligent searching of the ammo storage shelving units turned up a couple more boxes of pistol ammo, and one full and one half-emptied case of shotgun shells, but that was all. Again, no surprise. The group had enjoyed a minor miracle with the SPF Office ammo cache, but that could very well prove to be their only one. It didn't seem that the Armory was going to be much help to them after all ... unless ....

Rita walked to the storage lockers at the back of the room. There were five of them, each tagged for storage of personal goods by RPD force members who had worked at this station and were normally assigned to the basement levels. Rita began opening and searching each one in turn. The first one was empty, and the second held only personal belongings. She hit paydirt on the third one, though. Rita let out a low whistle as she reached into the locker and pulled out a compact machine pistol. From its weight alone, she judged it to be fully loaded. She checked the ammo clip to be sure – and that's when she got her second surprise. She quickly turned the gun and checked the manufacturer's stamp, then grunted in approval. The weapon she held was an Ingram MAC-11 machine pistol – but it was one that had been re-chambered from normal thirty-eight caliber ammo to standard nine millimeter parabellum rounds. Technically it was known as a Daniels or Vulcan MAC-11/9, but that was beside the point. This particular MAC could fire the same kind and size of round normally used by all of the RPD's standard issue SiG Sauer and Beretta nine millimeter pistols. That made it a prize find already – but it also featured an extended ammo clip that held twice as many rounds as the normal MAC-11 clip. Double bonus! She wondered why it had been left behind, when the rest of the Armory had pretty much been cleaned out. Had those who taken the weapons and ammo forgotten in their haste to clean out the lockers, too? Had the situation been that desperate?

It was then that Rita made her second major find inside the Armory. She was just about to close the locker when she happened to look at the box at its bottom where the MAC-11 had been sitting. Her off-hand glance caused her to look again. Setting her new weapon down - she had yet to figure out where she was going to put it - she reached into the locker and carefully withdrew the box. Setting it on the floor, she opened the lid and reached inside. Its interior was subdivided into twelve smaller compartments, and from one of these near the middle she withdrew what looked like a small canister with a grenade handle and pin fitted on top. Rita whistled again.

"Well if that don't beat all," Rita said aloud. "If I hadn't looked again, I never would have seen 'em." She grinned, hefting her new find – an M84 "flash-bang" stun grenade. "Won't this come in handy!"

* * * * *

As Elza had expected, the lower basement main hallway had started filling with zombies as soon as both Kevin and she had restored power. As she had predicted, this had allowed the Morgue hallway security shutter, with its broken switch, to rise up and reopen the side hallway. There were two zombies already shambling within the basement main hallway when she burst through the Boiler Room double doors, gun at the ready, and a third was just coming into view at the T-junction halfway down the hallway. Fortunately, all of the spare nine millimeter ammo clips she had scrounged up during this unexpected (and unwelcome) adventure were fully loaded. This allowed her to speedload her SiG just as fast as she could pull the empty clip and slam a new one home from out of her firesuit pockets. She emptied her first clip dropping the two hallway zombies and wounding the newcomer, then swapped out and began to move towards the T-junction as fast as aiming would allow. The third zombie went down, and a fourth had appeared at the T-junction by the time she emptied her second clip and swapped it with a third ... but by now, she was almost at the T-junction. She dispatched the fourth zombie with a head shot at point-blank range, then made the turn down the short hallway towards the Morgue. There were two more zombies in there heading in her direction, but she emptied her next clip into both of them. One went down for good, and the other one was staggered long enough for her to race past it, reloading as she ran.

There was a sharp turn to the left in the hall directly in front of her. Elza made the turn, and was relieved to find that the short section of hallway remaining to the Morgue door was empty of enemies. She quickly finished swapping clips, went back around the turn, and then dispatched the last zombie in the hall. it had even then been clawing and crawling towards the turn, no longer able to walk due to its wounds. One more shot to the head, and it was all over. Elza took the time to quickly sweep the bodies, collecting any spare nine millimeter ammo and ammo clips any of them still had in their police belts. After that, she turned back and headed for the Morgue.

Elza was very careful in opening the Morgue door. She had no idea what lay beyond. She had half-suspected that the reason so many zombies had been in this area was that some of the RPD officers had taken shelter in here whenever the building was overrun, but hadn't known that one of them was already infected ... or perhaps it had been something worse. She would never know. All she did know was that the key card needed to open the Cell Bay was probably in here somewhere. That meant that she was going to have to search the room. Great care would be needed – especially if there were any more zombies there. That is what she expected to find, and so she did. As soon as the door opened, she heard the moaning whine and shuffling steps of a zombie off to her left. She turned and fired immediately without even bothering to aim. One bullet went wide, and ricocheted harmlessly off of the far wall, but the two that followed it thwacked! into the zombie shambing towards her from that corner of the Morgue. It staggered back from the impact, and Elza quickly put two more aimed slugs into it, one each into its head and upper chest. Even as it fell to the floor, her eyes quickly swept the room. There were three gurneys to her immediate right, with a rolling instrument table over the last one and what looked like a bloody body under a sheet beneath it. "Oh, great," she thought to herself. There was another storage cabinet beyond the gurneys, neatly nestled between the head of the last gurney and the far left corner of the Morgue. Directly in front of her, in two neatly stacked rows of five each and running almost the full length of the back wall, were large doors with handles in them that were obviously for body drawers.

The first thing Elza did was to step over the zombie she had just dispatched and search the medical cabinet in the front of the Morgue. The only useful thing it contained was a first aid kit. That she took and put in her pack. No telling when they would need first aid supplies. She then made her way carefully around the room by hugging its far wall, staying as far away from the body on the third gurney as possible. This meant she had to skirt the row of body drawer doors on the last leg of her route, and that set up a scene straight out of some third-rate horror movie. Even so, she tried not to let it get to her. Finally, she found herself standing in front of the second medical cabinet. Nothing had moved, and there had been no strange sounds to set her on edge. Sitting inside the cabinet, in plain sight through the glass door on its middle shelf, was the Red Key Card for the Cell Bay. She opened the door and picked it up.

A muffled whump! behind her, followed by the sound of metal banging on a concrete wall, caused Elza to instinctively spin away and towards the far wall, ducking and dodging as she did so. By her actions, she missed both having her head hit by the upper body drawer, whose door had just popped open, and being grabbed by the now flailing zombie that had been under the sheet on the third gurney. There was another whump! and clang! as another body drawer door popped open, with a pair of wriggling half-decomposed feet now protruding from the opening. Elza didn't wait around to see what would happen next. She bolted for the door and through it, slamming it shut behind her and leaving the Morgue to the undead within.

* * * * *

Kevin had quickly made his way back down from the roof all the way to the first floor, and was now standing by the wall switch to the security shutter in the building's West Hallway. With his shotgun raised in one hand and his eyes on that part of the hallway framed by the closed shutter, Kevin reached behind him and flipped the switch. It took all of about two seconds for the shutter to roll up ... and as it did so, it revealed over a dozen zombies milling about in the hallway beyond. All of them turned as one to glare at him as the shutter lifted, then began to shuffle and stagger in his direction. By that time, however, Kevin had already pulled his free hand back from the switch and slapped it onto the pump of his shotgun. The SPAS-12 began to bark like mad, Kevin running forward as he fired, straight into the pack of the undead before him and firing as fast as he could work the pump on the gun, only slowing when he had to do so, and then resuming his dash again. It took less than half a minute for Kevin to clear a path all the way to the end of the hallway, with blasted and half-blasted zombies spinning out of his way like struck ten pins in a bowling alley. He reached the end of the hall with only one shell to spare in the gun. There were two doors there – a back door for the west side of the building, and a door to his right that opened into the building's North Office. The back door had a security shutter over it; however, the security shutter was smashed open at the bottom, and only a small piece of what had been the back door could be seen hanging from the bottom hinge. Also, what Kevin later reckoned to be the most hyperactive normal zombie he could recall seeing during the Outbreak was furiously clawing its way through the hole, trying to get through fast enough to come to its feet and have a go at Kevin. All it got for its trouble was the muzzle of Kevin's SPAS-12 in its face and Kevin's last loaded 12-gauge shell in its teeth. It flopped once and moved no more, blocking the hole in the door and shutter. Almost at once, though, it began to jerk and twitch as if a dog had scooped it up in its maw, and then something began to pull it backwards in uneven jerks out through the hole. Kevin didn't wait to see what it was. He yanked open the North Office door to his right, darted through, and slammed it shut behind him. It was going to be the Lobby all over again, what with that hole in the security shutter and however many more of those things that were outside, waiting for their chance to get in. Damn!

Kevin had dived through the North Office door without really bothering to look first and see what awaited him. Had there been enemies beyond, they probably would have taken him out, he now reflected. He had been lucky again, though, as he leaned against the now-closed door and caught his breath. The North Office turned out to be large, dimly lit, and not a thing moved as far as he could see. Directly in front of him was a large table, with various books and papers and other odds and ends on it. It was just the first of a line of desks and tables that ran down most of the length of the room. They were lined up against a long set of partitions whose end was almost directly edge-on to Kevin. They in turn created a small pseudo-hallway on the left side of the office leading down its north wall. The partitions then turned along the far or east wall, with shelving units and storage cabinets now in front of them, and ran all the way to the far corner – where they stopped at a large indentation formed by the walls of the stairwell beyond. Too bad there wasn't a connecting door to that stairwell, Kevin mused. It would have made for a far easier route back to the basement levels and the girls than running the gauntlet of the zombies in both the West Hallway and the Lobby, then making the loop back around via the first floor East Hallway. He looked across the office. There were two more lines of desks and tables runnning end-to-end across the width of the room, running in parallel with the first line in front of him. All three were separated by evenly spaced aisles, and there was also apparently another aisle between the last line of desks and tables and the storage cabinets lining the right or south wall. In the empty space at the far end of the room formed by the partitions and the stairwell indentation in the wall sat a single isolated desk. Kevin recalled that was for the duty officer's use for whatever shift was manning the office at any given time. With so much inside, the entire North Office seemed ripe for the searching – as there was no telling what he might find. Kevin decided it could wait for now. First, he wanted to follow the pseudo-hallway behind the partition – or "partition hallway," as he was now beginning to think of it. That represented the greatest unknown in the office, so he wanted to first eliminate any threat potential it might pose him.

Kevin had taken the time to reload his shotgun during his initial survey of the office. He now began to walk down the partition hallway, his shotgun held in a walking carry, ready if anything was waiting to jump him from the turn at the far end. Fortunately, nothing was there. All he found was a door in the east wall immediately around the turn. He saw another door almost at the far end of the partition hallway, located a short distance before it dead-ended against the wall of the stairwell. Even in the dim light of the North Office, Kevin could make out the nameplate on the door in front of him. "Interrogation," he said aloud, but in a low voice. "I thought this looked kinda familiar, even though I've never been back here. Looks like this is set up the same way as at the new RPD station. That means this is the police side, and the door down there the prisoner side. I think I'll try this side first."

With that Kevin opened the door and stepped in – and almost immediately tripped over a body lying a few feet in front of the door. Kevin quickly stumbled over it, slipping and sliding in a large pool of blood and almost losing his balance before he could catch the edge of a nearby table and steady himself. He deftly moved to a clear patch on the floor, turning back towards the body as he did so and aiming his shotgun at it one-handed. It didn't move. It didn't even twich. In fact, it would have been hard for it to do anything, given the fact that it had been savagely mutilated and its head had been ripped off. That was lying under the table that had steadied Kevin, staring up at him with sightless, ruined eyes. Kevin let out a long sigh of relief and lowered his weapon. No chance of that particular body reviving as a zombie. It was still a gory sight, and that didn't include the pool of blood on the floor and smeared trails going everywhere. There were even bloodstains and trails on the walls and door – as if the hapless victim had tried to claw his way out of the room even as he was being butchered. The smell was incredible, but Kevin had seen and been in such sights before. He automatically steeled himself against what his senses were delivering to his brain, even as they tried to revolt against his control. He was no forensics expert, but he had seen enough mutilated bodies in his time to recognize someone getting their throat torn out by some animal when he saw it. Kevin quickly looked around. No sign of whatever it was, and not even an obvious hole of any kind for either its entry or exit. It looked like this was going to be one of the Outbreak's gory little set-piece mysteries that might remain forever unsolved.

Kevin decided to ignore the body for now, as it did not appear to have anything useful left on it, and began searching the room. Two tables, two bookcases, and an old-style wall heating unit were all the room contained besides the body, and these were summarily and thoroughly searched. There was a box of pistol ammo on one of the bookcases, but he hadn't seriously depleted his own supplies of nine millimeter shells ... yet. He reckoned he could leave it, finish searching both the other side of the Interrogation Room and the North Office, and then come back and retrieve it at his leisure. A glint of metal from the table in the far corner of the room eventually caught Kevin's eye, so he walked over to see what it might be. It was a small key with a rounded, three-leaf-clover style tab. It looked decidedly old-fashioned and thin. Too thin for a door key. A locker or desk key? Kevin recalled seeing the storage lockers and desks in the outer office when he had first entered. This might belong to one of them.

Kevin pocketed the small key, then turned and went to the only other table left in the room. It was the one that had steadied him when he had first entered, the same with its grisly and sightless watcher still parked in its pool of blood directly beneath it. The table was a fair-sized one, and had been set up in front of the room's one-way mirror for the use of those RPD officers monitoring any interrogations on the other side. Dominating it was an old-style reel-to-reel quarter-inch tape recorder that looked like it had come straight out of the 1970s, or perhaps even the 1960s. Plugged into one of its microphone jacks was an old-fashioned, oversized table mike sitting a few inches away from it, and there were cords leading from its other mike jacks to matching sockets in the wall. Kevin guessed they were for the microphones hidden in the prisoner side of the Interrogation Room. Also sitting beside the tape recorder were several boxed tape reels, all marked with dates and what appeared to be names and case numbers of various past RPD interrogation sessions, as well as a clipboard with various papers. The tape recorder still had a reel in the machine that appeared to have only been used for a few minutes. Out of curiosity more than anything else, Kevin reached over to the tape deck, rewound the tape, and then hit the PLAY button. The reels began to slowly turn as the tape in them was pulled across the deck's playing head. A voice familiar to Kevin sounded both from the unit's speaker and the two speakers in the room, one mounted high in each of the corners behind Kevin.

\--------------------

Hello. This is Robert Clemons, station chief, old station, Raccoon Police Department. Case number 86-2319. Two young adult males, both white, were arrested for malicious mischief and petty bickering in downtown Raccoon City—

\--------------------

Kevin turned the tape recorder off. He thought the tape might have contained something related to the Outbreak, but it was just a routine case report and interrogation recording, nothing more. There was no telling what might be on the other tapes, but Kevin suspected more of the same. It appeared that there was nothing else of use in here. Kevin now glanced through the one way mirror at the prisoner's side of the Interrogation Room. The prisoner's side was plain and drab, with only a single folding table and several folding chairs. A policeman's body was propped up in the northeast corner of the room – and it was to Kevin's left as he looked through the mirror. He almost dismissed it as another corpse or a zombie playing possum ... until he thought he saw it slowly breathing. He looked again. It didn't have either the pallid or half-bloodied look of a typical zombie, nor did it have the brilliant red crimson hue of one of those fast-as-hell "crimson zombies," either. Then, very much to Kevin's surprise, the policeman's head slowly turned. It moved until it was looking directly at the one way mirror - at him, he guessed - and he recognized the officer at once. It was Roy Baker, the station's radio officer. He was known as "D.J." to his friends, due to his job, and he was one of the nicest younger officers on the force. Kevin was appalled at the young man's current condition. He was surprised even more that he hadn't yet turned, and that he was even still able to move. Roy must have heard him playing the tape through the speakers in the other room and reacted to the sound. A weak voice filled with pain came through the microphones planted in the other room.

"Pleeaaaaaseeee ... go ... go away ... pleeeeaaaseee ...."

Kevin didn't wait to hear more. He immediately bolted for the door, out into the partition hallway, and raced for the door to the prisoner side of the Interrogation Room.

* * * * *

The Cell Bay door's lock chimed as Elza slid her new key card through the reader. She heard the sound of hydraulic locking bolts being withdrawn, then the whooosh! of the door itself as it slid back into the wall on a hidden track ... revealing a zombie that was standing in the doorway directly in front of her. It had apparently been caught by total surprise, as it had its back to her – and that gave Elza the initial advantage. The good news was that it was a normal zombie, and not one of those fast-as-hell "crimson" bastards. The bad news was that it was a "fat cop zombie," or FBS as Elza had now nicknamed them. In her book, those three letters stood for fucking bullet sponge. She immediately brought her pistol to bear, emptying the entire clip into the thing before it had the chance to react. She had the empty clip ejected and another in her pistol even as it went down, whining and moaning and trying to claw at her ankles. She emptied half of her second clip into it, then finished it off with her knife. The thing finally stopped moving, and Elza stepped around both the body and the fast-forming blood pool beneath it. She was in the Cell Bay at last.

No other zombies had appeared in the front part of the Cell Bay during her brief fight with the "fat cop zombie," That could mean only one thing: all of the former prisoners were still locked up. That's what she hoped, anyway. She walked down the short hallway before her to a door-sized opening to her right, and then peered around the corner. This was the Cell Bay proper, she realized. The short hallway she was now in was where the duty officer had his desk and supply cabinet. There appeared to be three cells to each side of a long walkway that dead-ended at the last cells on both sides. Flailing arms groped out from between the bars of some of them, and loud wails and moans filled the air, but that was all. So they were still locked in. Good. The walkway proper was clear ... and, as she noted with relief, it appeared she could walk in its exact center while still being out of reach of the groping arms of the locked-up zombies on either side. That knowledge might prove useful, in the event she might have to go down there. She shuddered at the thought.

The next thing Elza did was to search the desk and the storage locker in the short hallway where she was now located. It was the only thing she could do. The only other ways out were the security door she had just came in and the opening to the Cell Bay's walkway. There was a clipboard on the desk with some papers on it, with the topmost giving a list of names of the various prisoners in the Cell Bay. One of the names caught her eye: Kendo. The gun shop guy? She glanced at the entry. Nope, different first name. She was relieved in a way. Robert Kendo owned the best gun shop in Raccoon City, and she had made many a trip there with the Redfields, with her dad and her brother Randy, or on her own. He looked rough, but he was actually a pretty nice guy – and he knew his weapons, too. That fetch-and-carry summer job he had given her when she was fourteen had been her first real job in her life, and that's when she had gotten both to know Mr. Kendo and learn even more about guns from him. She was glad he wasn't the one locked up in there with the zombies. Speaking of which, whoever this Kendo guy might be was probably a zombie now, too. God, but she hoped Mr. Kendo hadn't become one of their victims. It would have been one helluva fight, though, had they tried to go after him. She was sure of that. She now put the clipboard back down and searched the desk. There were various odds and ends, but there was only one thing that proved a significant find, and that was the ring of door keys for the cells. Elza picked them up, looked down the Cell Bay for a moment, then set them back down. "First things first," she thought to herself. She now conducted a quick search of the storage locker. She turned up another box of nine millimeter ammo and a case of shotgun shells, but that was all.

Elza left the case for the shotgun shells, but emptied its complete contents into her pack. That would save some room for other things. She now took the box of nine millimeter shells and wound up using all of them as she reloaded as many of her spare ammo clips as she could. She had been retrieving and collecting clips from the downed zombies whenever possible after each fight, and she now had quite a set of them. She emptied the entire box before she got through them all, but at least she now had more pre-loaded clips for her SiG than she did before.

It was while she was in the process of reloading that Elza's radio crackled. "Elza? Rita? Kevin here."

Elza reached into her firesuit, retrieved her radio, held it up to speak into it, and then keyed the mike. "Elza here. What's up?"

"I've foundanother survivor. It's Roy – the RPD officer Chief Clemons told you about. He'sin pretty bad shape, though. I don'tthink he's going to make it."

\------------------------------

Chapter 6 - Rebel

The door to the Kennels flew open as Rita barrelled inside in a low crouch, gun aimed and at the ready. Total silence greeted her. No sound of claws rapping on the floor, no haggard growling or snarling, no vicious infection-aggravated barking ... nothing. She looked to the left. There was a short hallway that dead-ended a few dozen feet away, but it was blocked by an overturned wheelbarrow. It had been wedged against the door to what was probably the isolation kennel, she guessed, but something had forced a opening in the bottom of the bars and apparently escaped. Rita tried not to think about it as she now looked the other way. Directly ahead and to her right was a metal storage cabinet sitting inside a wall recess only slightly larger than itself. One of its doors hung to one side, held open by a half-eaten sack of dog food, with the rest spilled across the floor and around a turn to the right. That was where the actual Kennels were, Rita knew. If the other two K-9s were anywhere, they were probably still in there – and they were probably infected, too. Were they asleep? Or were they just playing possum, waiting for her to make the turn so they could jump her and rip her throat apart? Only one way to find out. Rita breathed in deeply, then dashed around the turn, gun raised and ready to fire.

She saw neither one of the remaining K-9s. The Kennels were empty after all. The doors to all six pens were open, however, and there was a large pool of blood on the floor. It came from the bloody mess that was propped up in front of a large crate against the far wall, a mess that had been an RPD officer at one time, but was hardly recognizable now save for what remained of the bloody uniform. Powerful virus-enhanced jaws had been given free rein with the body, and what was left now would have done any top-notch Hollywood horror movie proud. Rita came very close to throwing up again at the sight and smell of that savagely mutilated form. The fact that there weren't any more infected dogs in the Kennels to worry about had at least one good side, though. It gave her time to steel herself against that gory spectacle. Rita swallowed hard and did her best to keep from gagging. Once she had herself under control again, she gritted her teeth and moved in to investigate.

It was fairly obvious what had happened. The dogs had jumped the officer as soon as he had turned the corner. They had cut off his only route of escape and then backed him against the crate, each leaping and attacking as they were able. That was why the man's pistol and what remained of his right hand and forearm were lying off to one side. The slide on his SiG nine millimeter was actually bent slightly, and the crumpled end of the barrel showed multiple teeth marks. Once they had finished with him, they had then used his almost perfectly positioned body as a means of climbing up and onto the crate. After that, it was a simple matter of getting at the connecting vent to the Firing Range. The ruined remains of the protective cover still hung from one screw, looking for all the world like it had been twisted open by someone latching onto it with a pair of snips and then both rotating away and cutting with them simultaneously. Rita shook her head. What the T-virus was doing to anyone and anything infected by it was ... well ... incredible. If it wasn't for the gory after-effects ... well ... she now believed she understood why Umbrella had been so interested in it. Even so, it had its horrible price – and the remains of the body she now gingerly searched was but one small example of the fee being exacted from Raccoon City for that knowledge.

Rita knelt down, and then used a loose and fairly clean scrap from the body's uniform lying loose to one side in order to wipe the blood off of its name badge: S. DEETS. Rita nodded and sighed sadly. Steve Deets had been both the chief jailer and the old station's K-9 handler, like good old Tony Wilson over at the new one. They had been much alike, these two, save in their preference for canines. Tony preferred Dobermans, while Steve's choice was for German Shepherds – the traditional choice for police dogs for many years. They had often joked about it with each other whenever the staffs of the two station houses got together on occasion, with Tony calling Steve "old-timer" and Steve referring to Tony as a "modernist." They had also both shared the same fate, in that they had been slaughtered by the very pets they loved so much. So sad. So very sad ....

Rita stood back up. She turned and walked away, her examination done. What ammo the poor Steve Deets had left was blood-soaked – and she didn't want to risk infection by touching it. Instead, she went to the half-opened cabinet with the dog food bag hanging out and opened the other door. More dog food spilled onto the floor from a second ripped bag; however, the contents of the shelf above appeared to be untouched. There were a few basic first aid supplies - these she immediately added to her backpack - and other odds and ends related to K-9 care that didn't seem useful. Of more interest to her was a piece of paper lying loose on one side of the shelf, as if it had been left there after reading. "Probably by poor Steve," Rita mused, as she picked up the paper and scanned it. It was a copy of an RPD internal memo on standard stationery, from the late Chief Clemons to everyone at the old station, and it was dated the day after the Outbreak had started. The body of the memo was brief and to the point:

\--------------------

In light of the situation that now faces the RPD, and since the card reader on the Parking Garage door is still not working, I have ordered that it be given a new pass code. The new number is 4311. Please memorize the new code and then destroy this memo ASAP.

\--------------------

Rita snorted softly. It was a good thing she had come in here after all ... but why had the Fates decreed that she had to see what she had just seen along with it?

Suddenly Rita's radio squawked. "Elza? Rita? This is Kevin." She heard Elza respond even as she brought it up so she could respond as well, but Kevin answered back before she could. "I've found another survivor. It's Roy – the RPD officer Chief Clemons told you about. He's in pretty bad shape, though. I don't think he's going to make it."

* * * * *

Roy Baker sat alone in the prisoner side of the Interrogation Room, propped up in the far corner opposite its only door. He was no longer in pain. His entire body was now numb from the chest down. It had started in his toes, then his feet, then his ankles, and over the past few hours the creeping paralysis had worked its way with him. The fact that he had been drifting in and out of consciousness during that time made it seem a lot shorter than it probably had been. All he knew now was the he couldn't move, couldn't feel a thing, and no longer had the ability to lift his gun and end it all. He was going to turn, in the same way that Novak had said people turned when they became infected, and there was no longer a damn thing he could do about it. All he could do was sit there and let it happen.

Suddenly he heard the voice of Chief Clemons in the room. It couldn't be! He had left the dying Clemons up in his office before he had gone off to find his own private spot to die. Like a cat, he mused, an old cat that knows when it's time has come ... save that he wasn't an old cat. He was a young man, one of the youngest on the force – and only that new rookie they had just hired, Leon Kennedy, was younger by all accounts. It wasn't his turn to die! It wasn't supposed to end like this! He had an entire life ahead of him ... or did. The Outbreak had changed all of that. So too had the massed attack of the zombies just as they were loading up the last evacuation helicopter at the station. He and Clemons were the only survivors of the handful of brave RPD officers - or fools, he now thought - who had stayed behind, acting as rearguard so the others could escape. All of them had been wounded, and all of the others had eventually succumbed to their wounds ... just like he was about to do. He didn't know if the chopper had made it out or not. Frankly, he didn't care any more. He was going to die, just like the chief probably already had ... but if so, why was the chief speaking? It couldn't be. Was it a dream?

Without warning, the voice of Clemons cut off in mid-sentence. Roy's half-numbed mind was still clear enough to realize that what he had been hearing was a recording. A tape recording ... that meant that someone or something was on the other side of the room, beyond the one-way mirror. Something he couldn't do anything about, paralyzed as he was – but someone ... some human .... He had to warn them. He had to let them know that his end was almost at hand, before he turned and could no longer control his actions. He had to let them know .... With great effort, Roy managed to turn his head so that he was looking at the one-way mirror. He mouthed the words - he didn't know if he was actually saying them or not - but he mouthed them anyway.

"Pleeaaaaaseeee ... go ... go away ... pleeeeaaaseee ...."

He dimly heard the door on the other side open and shut. Seconds later, the door in front of him flew open. Framed in the doorway was Kevin Ryman – one of the new SPF guys who he could only vaguely remember. Kevin looked at Roy and grimaced. "Oh, man ...."

Kevin knelt down in front of Roy. The young man lay propped up in the corner like a stiff-jointed action figure with limbs akimbo and legs splayed. He could just barely move his head. He looked up at Kevin with glazed eyes. "Noooo ... he moaned. "Noooo ... goooo ... turning ...."

Kevin whipped out his radio and keyed it. "Elza? Kevin here."

The radio crackled. "Elza here. What's up?"

"I've found another survivor." Kevin looked at the young man, then spoke into his radio again. "It's Roy – the RPD officer Chief Clemons told you about. He's in pretty bad shape, though. I don't think he's going to make it."

"Rita here," a voice interjected on the radio. "Did you say you found Roy?"

"Yeah, but he's dying," Kevin said. "I think he's about to turn – that means I don't have much time left if I'm going to talk to him." The young man moaned. "Hang on," Kevin said. "I think he's trying to tell me something."

"Ask him about the Media Room," Elza said. "We need to know how to get in there, so we can get that thing we need to open the Chief's safe."

"He'll probably know how," Rita added. "He and Chief Clemons were close."

"I will," Kevin said, and lowered his radio. He looked at Roy, who by now had leaned his head back against the wall. It seemed to be the only part of his body he could move. His breathing was labored, and his eyes were half-closed. "Roy," Kevin began, speaking slowly and carefully, "we've seen Chief Clemons. He's dead. Before he died, though, he told us to get the Umbrella case files out of his safe and take them with us. He died before he could finish telling us how to open it. Do you know how?"

Roy slowly turned his head to look at Kevin. He was making a determined effort to speak, although his words came out slurred and disjointed. "No ... noo tiiimmmeeee ...."

"Right now, man!" Kevin snapped. "Use what time you've got! We need to know!"

The dying RPD officer squinted at Kevin. He drew in a ragged breath, then began again. "Safe ... office ... city puzzle ... city block ... piece ... M-- ... Me-- ... Media Room ... in there." He stopped and gasped for breath.

"It's locked," Kevin said, "and none of us have the pass codes or key cards for it. Where are they? How do we get it open?!"

Roy smiled faintly. "Voice ... lock ... chief's voice ... tape ... o—ther room ... say ... hello ...."

Kevin nodded. "Get the recording of the chief's voice from the other room, and play back him saying hello to the door lock."

Roy nodded. "Yeah ... get ... baaa—stards ... killed ... us ... all ...." He drew in another ragged breath, and then his breathing became spasmodic. He gave Kevin a wild-eyed stare. "GO!" he hissed. "Starting ...."

Kevin didn't wait for more. He turned and fled the Interrogation Room, leaving the dying young man to his fate.

* * * * *

Elza walked slowly down the center walkway of the Cell Bay, the ring of door keys in one hand and her pistol in the other, doing her best to remain the same distance from the cells on both sides as she walked. It was the only safe way to remain out of the grasping reach of the arms that swung and groped for her, of the hands that clawed and grasped the air mere inches from her on either side. The situation reminded her of an old Greek myth she had heard back in her high school days. In one part, the myth's hero had to run the gauntlet between two chained lions, one on either side of a narrow pass, with their chains just long enough for them to reach almost but not quite to the middle of the pass. The only safe way between them had been to turn to one side and walk in the exact middle of the pass. That was the closest thing like to what she was having to do right now, she thought. Running a gauntlet of chained monsters with just enough slack in their leashes to kill you, provided you didn't freak out or act stupid.

She didn't have to run the gauntlet of the zombie prisoners. It was a risky thing, and she knew it. She ought to be getting back to the Boiler Room and searching its tool bench. No doubt there was more than one potential useful item awaiting her finding there. It was the name Kendo on the cell roster that had caused her to risk this questionable venture. She wanted to see if he was related to Mr. Kendo, and whether or not he had turned zombie like the rest. It was simple curiosity, nothing more. "Yeah, and curiosity killed the cat, too, or so the old saw goes," a little voice inside her kept saying as she continued her carefully centered walk down the Cell Bay. At almost every step, one or more pairs of arms would reach for her, accompanied by the typical wails and moans of the undead. By the time she was halfway down the Cell Bay, she had gotten to the point where she couldn't put up with the racket anymore. She suddenly stopped, shoulders stiff and fists balled, and let fly with her frustration.

"SHUT UP!!!!" Elza yelled. "SHUT THE HELL UP!!!!"

Within seconds, the Cell Bay became as quiet as a Protestant church on Monday morning. The soundless zombies stared at her with questioning eyes, shuffling their feet, not knowing how to respond to such an unexpected reaction to their actions. Elza glared at all of them, turning her head side to side, her eyes narrowed and her mouth curled in a half-snarl.

"That's more like it! Not one more sound out of you creeps! Got it?!"

Once more, Elza resumed her carefully centered walk. This time, no arms groped at her, and no cries and wails were hurled at her. She finished the trip to the end of the Cell Bay accompanied by silence, and then looked into the last cell on her right ... the one where the roster had said one John Kendo had been locked up. Inside was a man, lying on the cell's single bolted-down bed ... and he was snoring! She couldn't hear it earlier, due to being at the other end of the Cell Bay and the subsequent ruckus raised by the zombies in their cells, but there was no doubt about it. Snoring! "How the hell can a man sleep in all of this racket?" she wondered. She shook her head in amazement – and then she remembered seeing the entry next to his name on the Cell Bay's prisoner roster:

\--------------------

Kendo, John – Arrested following fight and property damage at Goon's Saloon Bar and Grill. Charged with third-degree assault and being drunk and disorderly.

\--------------------

Well, she thought, if he had been really drunk, then that might explain it. He was probably still sleeping it off.

Elza holstered her pistol, then fished out her flashlight and looked at it. It was metal, and that was what she needed. Too risky to use her pistol. She turned it around so that the light end was in her hand, in order to make sure that it wouldn't get damaged, then began raking the bars with it. The resultant clattering noise stirred the zombies up again, and they resumed their wild moaning and straining to get through the bars at her. This time Elza ignored them. "Hey, you in there!" she called out to the man in the cell. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty! Time to get up!"

The man stirred. The body shifted, and a very human-sounding groan came from its direction. The head rolled back, then turned far enough to get a look at her. "Hey, would ya cut dat— whoa ...!" The man suddenly sat up, turning his entire body as he did so that he would be facing her. His mouth was all grin, with just a bit of a leer, and his eyes were dancing at the sight of an attractive young feminine delight. "Hey, babe! Ain't dat s'pposed ta be wid a kiss? An' were'd you come from? It's not like th' cops to let purdy little things like you in here."

Elza glared at him. "You wish," she almost spat. Her voice now took on a definite cool tone. "First of all, I wasn't let in. I let myself in. Second, my name's not babe. It's Elza Walker. Remember that. Third, I was curious to see if any humans were still alive in the Cell Bay, Mr. Kendo. That's the only reason I'm down here. Got it?"

The man grinned. He hopped up from the bunk and sauntered over to the door. Elza couldn't help but notice how he eyed her up and down as he approached. Then again, given the kind of man he appeared to be, she expected nothing less. Mid-to-late forties, she judged, with hair graying at the temples and a three-day beard that would have done any man proud who didn't particularly care about his looks. He wore an untucked dirty t-shirt along with jeans, braces, and boots. Well-worn boots too, Elza noted, judging from the condition of the leather. "If you put a hard hat on him," she thought to herself, "he'd look at home at any construction site you could think of – and he'd probably be making wolf whistles at all the ladies who came by, too." She also couldn't help but notice the striking likeness to Robert Kendo. Not close enough to be twins, but still damn close. Too damn close.

John Kendo stopped at the locked door. He looked at her, still grinning. "Well? How 'bout it, girlie? Dis door ain't going to open itself, ya know." He paused, as if thinking. Elza half-expected that he would begin to scratch himself,

but he did not.

Elza smiled thinly. "I don't see any point in keeping you in here any longer, Mr. Kendo, and I know you're not a crook. Just a drunk. The clipboard up there on the desk says so." She produced the keys and began to work the lock. "So if you'll do me a favor and stow that macho bullshit of yours, then I won't change my mind and leave you in here."

Elza's last remark must have hit home with the big man. His face took on a sour expression, and he said no more while Elza finished with the lock. It clicked, and Elza opened the cell door. "Time to go, Mr. Kendo."

"Weeeeeeellll ..." the man said, "dat's mitey nice-a-ya. Dank ya – an' mah namez' John. Tell me, gir— uhhh, I mean, Miz Elza – wuzh goan on? An' where's Roy, an' all de other cops who work here?"

"Almost all of them are dead," Elza snapped. "I'm here with two cops from the other station. "

"Dead?" John looked surprised. "But I thought dey had all of dose zombies at bay! The chief was gonna have evacooshun choppahs cum in, and git us all out of here. Ain't that right, Gary? Tell her—OH, SHIT!!!" he exclaimed, as he leaned around Elza and got his first good look at the prisoner in the cell across the hall. He stepped back involuntarily, his face aghast. Bloodied hands with torn fingernails were reaching and grasping as far as they could from fully extended, wound-covered arms that belonged to the man who had used to be prisoner Gary Haldwell. It was now a zombie, and it snarled at John with its blood-and-drool dripping mouth as it continued its vain attempts to reach him. John looked at Elza, horror written across his face. "Is dey all like dat?" he said in a surprisingly quiet voice.

"All of them," Elza intoned sternly. "You're the only human left down here."

John shook his head. He pulled what had once been a fairly decent pocket rag - now dirty from repeated use - from one of his pockets, and used it to wipe off the sweat now forming on his forehead. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" he muttered – and then looked up at her with at start. "Shit! The evacooashun!"

"There isn't going to be any evacuation!" Elza suddenly exclaimed. John stared at her in shocked silence as she continued. Her voice was lower now and more controlled, but it still held its emotional edge, increasing in intensity the more she talked. She was almost shouting again by the time she was done – if only to be heard above the din of the incarcerated zombies nearby. "Everything's gone to hell, Mr. Kendo. The last escape chopper apparently hauled ass not long before we got here. The zombies attacked even as the last survivors were trying to get out, and not everyone made it on board. You got left behind, Mr. Kendo, or maybe they figured you had turned already. It doesn't matter – practically everyone who didn't make it out is a zombie now! There's no one left alive in here now save you and Officer Baker – and he's not going to stay human for much longer either, from what I've been told!"

The man visibily reacted at Elza's last sentence. "Offisuh Baker? You mean Roy, don't'cha? Roy's still hear?! He was s'pposed to cum an' git me! Dat's why dey ain't—ROY!?!? ROY!!!" John yelled, as he suddenly bolted past Elza and down the cell-lined hallway, barreling through grasping arms as he ran. "ROY!!!" he cried again, even as he rounded the corner.

Elza was so shocked by John's reaction that he had left her standing in amazement back at the door to his cell. By the time she was able to grasp what was happening, the Cell Bay's massive security door had slid open and was already sliding shut. She whipped out her radio, held it up, and keyed the mike frantically. "Kevin! Rita!' This is Elza! Come in!"

"This is Kevin," came the immediate response. "What's up?"

"This is Rita," cut in another voice. "Was that you that just ran up the stairs? What's going on?"

"It's John Kendo," Elza said, her voice agitated. She was already running, darting and dodging past the grasping arms as she followed in John's wake. "He was the only human left here, I let him out, and now he's run off to find Roy."

"Sounds like we have another problem," Kevin quipped.

* * * * *

Elza had explained the situation as fast as she could, even as the three of them were on the move. John was known to both Kevin and Rita. As it turned out, he was one of the RPD's "regulars," whom they locked up about every weekend for being drunk, or disorderly, or a combination of both. In other words, he was not a true criminal, but had an annoying tendency to get into trouble – and for that small favor of Fate both police officers were secretly grateful. All that was behind them now, though. Kevin had only seconds to make his plans, and he made them. John was going to get himself killed trying to find Roy, and would get killed by Roy if the poor man had already turned. It was up to Kevin to figure out a way to head off this raging bull at the pass before that happened, but that meant having to fight his way back down the West Hallway and through the Lobby again. Crossing the Lobby was Kendo's only option at getting to the rest of the RPD. Both Elza and Rita had volunteered to go after Kendo, but Kevin ordered Elza to stay – and not without some protest. She was to finish searching the basement, while he and Rita came at Kendo from both above and below and sandwiched him between them. The fact that both of them were RPD officers and already knew him might help in that respect, he had pointed out. Elza had acknowledged the point, but again not without protest.

By that time, however, Elza had already been running up the stairwell, pistol in hand – and was startled but not surprised when a worried-looking Rita popped out of the upper basement level stairwell door only a flight of stairs above her. Rita had what looked like an autopistol in her hands, and she held it out even as Elza slowed and stopped beside her. Rita practically shoved both the weapon and a yellow-striped key card at Elza, who barely had time to grab them. "Take these!" she exclaimed. "Garage security code is 4311! Good luck!" By the time she finished giving the code, Rita had already turned and was dashing up the stairs herself – taking them two at a time as much as the turning stairwell permitted. Three was out of the question, given her short height and legs, but she could manage two well enough. Rita ran all the way to the top, then through the door and into the first floor's East Hallway. John had a big head start on her, though, and she could already hear the door closing on the far end of the hall ... the one that connected to the Lobby. "Damnit!" she exclaimed, and kept on running.

Elza watched Rita until the older woman left the stairwell, then looked down at what had been handed her. Her smile changed to a low whistle of admiration. "Good find, Rita," she said aloud. She pocketed the key card and holstered her own pistol, and then took the MAC-11 in both hands. She removed the clip in order to check and see if it was loaded, then grunted in approval once she saw that it was. She then put it back in, turned, and headed back down the stairwell. Rita and Kevin were going after that mad lout, and that was that. She had unfinished business left to accomplish in the Boiler Room ... and after that, if the key code Rita had yelled at her would work ... the Parking Garage.

Meanwhile, Kevin was finding the going much harder than Rita, as he came at John from the opposite direction. The hallway had filled up with zombies again, and four were waiting to jump him as soon as he came through the office door. Fortunately the first blast from his SPAS-12 scattered them, and that was enough for him to zigzag his way through them and commence a dead run down the hall. Kevin kept firing as he went as need required, going back down the hall in much the same manner as he came up, only slowing long enough to clear a path in front or to ensure he wouldn't be jumped from behind. He didn't even bother with the security shutter controls. Instead, he took the turn and went through the door to the Lobby as fast as he couild, SPAS-12 up and at the ready.

Kevin was not a moment too soon. There was John, all right, standing in the middle of the Lobby near Elza's wrecked bike and grappling with a zombie. Two others that he had apparently bowled over when he first came in were slowly staggering back to their feet. "Drop!" Kevin yelled, hoping that John understood. John did. He immediately dropped down and leaned back as best he could, pulling the zombie over him. Kevin now had about as clear a line of fire as he was going to get – but using the SPAS-12 in this close a proximity was too dangerous. He quickly shifted the shotgun to his left head and pulled his SiG Sauer pistol with his right, firing as fast as the trigger would pull. The zombie convulsed as each bullet hit, and within seconds was rolling over onto the floor.

John popped up, a big grin on his face. "Thanks, man!" he exclaimed – and then he suddenly dashed past Kevin to the hallway behind, almost before Kevin had time to react. Kevin whirled around, but even as he completed his turn he heard the door down there to the West Hallway closing behind John. Another door opened behind him on the other side of the Lobby, and he turned back around just in time to see Rita charging in from the East Hallway, a shotgun in her hands and ready for action. Kevin noticed that it was the Remington police shotgun from the Firing Range he had failed to get earlier. "Good going, Rita!" he thought.

Rita looked at Kevin expectantly. Kevin shook his head. "You just missed him," he said. A groan coming from the shattered doors at the front of the Lobby caused both of them to turn. Four zombies were clawing their way through the tangled remains of the door's security shutter, with a crowd of at least two dozen more right behind them. "Of all the—" Kevin muttered, then spun to Rita's left and emptied his pistol. One of the zombies that John had bowled over earlier, and who had just regained his feet, just as quickly went back down. Rita turned almost as soon as Kevin began to shoot, and fired a round from her shotgun into the second almost-recovered zombie. It too went down. More groans came from the broken front security shutter now behind them, and they spun about again. The first two zombies had almost finished crawling through, and the others were pressing from behind. Kevin quickly holstered his pistol, then shifted his SPAS-12 so that he was now gripping it with both hands again. He looked at Rita and grinned. "That's gratitude for ya," he smirked. "Think we better go after him?"

"Smartass," Rita grinned back. "Of course!" She waited a beat, and then added, "NOW!!!"

Both turned from the oncoming zombies, even as the first one inside lurched up to his feet, and then they both bolted for the West Hallway door as fast as they could.

* * * * *

"Rrrraaaaaaagggghhhh!!!" John yelled, as he lowered his shoulder and charged, halfback style, at the zombies blocking his way through the West Hallway. The result was immediate. With that much human mass in motion at that speed, zombies were sent flying in all directions. At least one of them broke its neck in its fall, smacking the wall behind it at just the right angle, for Kendo heard the distinctive krak! of breaking neck bones even as he ran. He didn't care. All he cared about was Roy – his good friend Roy, who was about to die, or so that cute-looking girl had said. Not Roy! No wonder they had left him when the others tried to escape! Now it was up to him to save Roy, if he could – and he had a good idea to where Roy might have gone to hide and die.

John well remembered the first time he had ever met Roy. It was in the same cell where he had just been released. It served as the drunk tank for the old RPD station, and he was one of its more frequent guests. He didn't quite remember the bar fight that had landed them in there that particular night - too much to drink and a broken beer bottle over his head had taken care of that - but he did remember waking up to find himself with one helluva headache and Roy tending him. Unlike the other officers at the old station at the time, who had tended to talk down to him and make fun about his being one of the drunk tank's "regulars," Roy had not said a word about it. He had finished bandaging John's head, and then made small talk with him for about an hour, talking about anything and everything except why John was there. That was how it had started. Every time he landed in the drunk tank after that, he would wake up to find Roy there. It was only later, after the two had visited for a while, that he learned Roy was a rookie who had been brought on as the station's new dispatcher. It was also through Roy that he had gotten to meet some of the nicer members of the RPD – like Rita Burnside, for instance. That little Southern belle who sometimes visited from the other station was a real firecracker, but she was also a tough cop with years of experience behind her who wasn't afraid to confront John directly about his issues. After that, it had been only a matter of time before he got on a first name basis with most of the nicer members of the RPD, even Chief Clemons himself – but Roy remained his first and best friend on the force. Now Roy was dying ... and John wasn't about to let him die alone. Not if he had anything to say about it.

John barged into the North Office on the first floor of the RPD. He didn't bother with the office proper. Instead, he swerved immediately to the left and headed down the narrow pseudo-hallway formed by the partitions alongside the north wall – the "partition hallway," as Kevin had named it during his earlier visit. The Interrogation Room was at the other end, and John was pretty sure that was where Roy would have holed up. As he made the turn near the door to the officer's side, though, he suddenly came to a full stop. There was a figure standing in the shadows at the far end of the wall, right across from the door to the prisoner's side of the Interrogation Room. That door was open, but the angle was bad and it was too dark in there to see inside. John could not see the figure's face due to the darkness on that end of the hall; nevertheless, he thought he recognized him from the general build and apparent cut of his hair.

"Roy? It's me, John! Is that you, Roy?"

* * * * *

Kevin and Rita were amazed by the spectacle that greeted them as they dashed up the West Hallway – and this despite their own recent experiences with the Outbreak. John had apparently taken out half-a-dozen zombies with his bare hands. Kevin looked at Rita as they dashed under the open security shutter. "He must be hell in a bar fight," he said between breaths.

Rita nodded. "Yeah," she said, never breaking stride. "He is."

They made it to the North Office door just as they heard John's voice from inside saying, "Roy?" Fortunately, no zombies were trying to get in through the hole in the back door to bother the two, but that wouldn't last long. Kevin looked at Rita, and motioned at the door with his hand. Rita nodded, her shotgun at the ready. Kevin opened the door as quietly as he could, and then the two officers slipped inside.

* * * * *

The figure at the end of the partition hallway moved slightly. Its head swiveled up and around to look at John. It was Roy. His glasses were missing, though, and his skin had a curious blue-white pallor shot through with red splotches. John wondered at that, but not for long. It was Roy, all right – and he was still alive.

"Roy? Hey, Roy! It's John! What'ch'a doin' down dere? Dis is no time for games, bud."

The figure lurched forward one step. From it came a sound. It wasn't quite pained talking, nor quite a zombie moan, but somewhere in between – although heavily favoring the latter.

"Gh ... ghhhh ... ghhhaaaawwwwnnnnn ... c-caaann't stop ... goooooo .... aaaaawwwwrrrrrrrgggghhh---"

And with that, the figure flung up its arms, fingers extended and clawed, and made a half-stumbling run towards the shocked man.

Without warning, the roar of a Remington 870 police shotgun split the air only a foot or so away from John's right side. The thing in front of John, only a few feet away now, immediately staggered and spun back to its left. Blood, bits of internal organs, and bloody pieces of clothing flew away in all directions from the fist-sized hole that had been opened up in its side. John immediately turned and grabbed the person who had fired the gun. He was so worked up that he failed to notice who it was. "Don't shoot Roy!" he cried. "Don't sh—"

Two things happened almost simultaneously in the next few seconds. The first was that there was the loud blast of another shotgun from somewhere behind John, almost by the officer's side door of the Interrogation Room. The head of the thing that had been Roy Baker exploded, spraying blood and brain matter on the walls, ceiling, and floor. The shotgun barked again, tearing open a large bloody hole in its chest. Blood went everywhere as it went down, entrails flying and what was now left of the body flopping helplessly. It stopped moving once it hit the floor. The second thing that happened was that whoever it was from whom John had yanked away the first shotgun abruptly turned on him. Suddenly the big man felt himself grabbed by a pair of hands, small but surprisingly powerful, and almost before he realized it he was on the receiving end of a judo throw. He hit the floor hard, knocking the wind out of him. That same small pair of hands then pulled him up to his knees and twisted one arm behind his back in a policeman's hold. John felt pain shoot up that arm as it was bent at an almost impossible angle, as a woman's voice hissed in his ear.

"John! This is Rita! Snap out of it! That's not Roy, got it?! That's NOT ROY!!!"

John now heard an all-too-familiar slide-and-click from beside his head. Still feeling the pain from the arm twisted behind him, he dared a glance to one side. A man stood there in the uniform of an RPD SPF officer, a shotgun in his hands and aimed at John's head. The man spoke quietly and evenly, but his voice had a chill in it that raised goosebumps on John's skin.

"You damn fool .... You almost got the both of us killed with your little stunt. Now you settle your sorry ass down right now, Mr. Kendo, or we won't come after you next time. Got it?"

John gulped, then nodded his head.

"Let him go," Kevin told Rita. He reslung his shotgun, then turned and began walking down towards Roy's body – no, not Roy. What had been Roy.

John felt the pain ease in his arm as it was released. Once it was free, he let both arms drop to his sides, and then hung his head. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

Those same small hands that had both thrown him and then twisted his own arm behind his back so effectively now went around him in a comforting hug. "It's all right, John," Rita said, with as much care as she could put in her voice. She had knelt down beside him, embracing him with one arm and with the hand of the other on his closer shoulder. "You were genuinely worried, and it's just like you. But you didn't know the situation, and you ran off half-cocked. Like you always do, John ... only this isn't some bar fight on Saturday night. This is serious, John, a lot more serious ... and if you keep doing stupid things like that, my friend, you're going to get us all killed."

John shivered. His eyes grew wet as he spoke. "I'm sorry, Miss Rita. It's jes' dat, well , Roy wuz the bestest friend Ize ever had ... an' ... an' ...."

He suddenly realized that a presence was standing in front of him. Kendo looked up. Kevin Ryman stood there, feet firmly planted and with a grim look on his face. In one of his gloved hands he held a police officer's gunbelt coiled around a pistol. He had stripped it from the body of the thing that once had been Roy Baker even while the other two talked. "Take it, " he said, and thrust it at Kendo. The big man merely stared at it. Kevin then reached over, grabbed one of the big man's hands, and forced the wrapped gunbelt into it. "Take it!" he barked. He let go but remained standing where he was. Rita looked at what was now in John's hand, looked over at Kevin, started to say something, then changed her mind and held her tongue.

"I ... I doan want it," Kendo muttered.

"You will take that," Kevin said evenly, "and you will use it, if you expect to get out of this hellhole alive. The Army's got the town barricaded, city services have been taken out, the station's radio is smashed, the phone lines are down, and we are on our own. We've got to work together if we're going to live long enough to get out of here, and that means you need to be one of us. All the way, Mr. Kendo – and no more mad dashes like what you just did. Are we clear on that subject?"

The big man stared at him. Kevin caught his gaze and held it, his eyes locked firmly on John's, until the big man looked away. "Yassuh," he muttered.

"Good," Kevin said. He now looked at Rita. "I'm fixing to go search the rest of the office and see if I can find more ammo for Mr. Kendo here. Rita, I want you to go into the Interrogation Room now that it's clear, get the box of ammo you'll find in there for John here, and make that recording we need of Chief Clemons' voice from the tape on the machine that's in there."

"Okay," Rita said. She looked at John. "You want to come with me?"

John looked at her for a moment, then looked at the body farther down the partition hallway. He let out a shuddering sigh, then looked back at Rita. His eyes were wet again. "I think I jes' wanna be aloan for a wilez," he said in a quiet voice.

"Fair enough," RIta said. She looked at Kevin. "I'll walk with you partway." Kevin didn't question her. He merely nodded.

The two of them walked about three-quarters of the full length of the partition hallway along the north wall, and then stopped. They were now far enough away from John to speak to each other in low voices without fear of him overhearing them. They glanced back the way they had come. John had sunk to his knees again and had buried his face in his hands. His body shook, and they could hear the sound of faint sobbing drifting down towards them.

"Poor John," Rita said. She looked at Kevin. "There was probably a better way to handle that, you know."

"Probably," Kevin said. "But I needed to snap him out of his state, and fast. He's not the only one who's lost someone in all this, you know."

Rita's voice faltered. "Yeah ... I know."

Kevin reached out a hand. He placed it on one of Rita's shoulders. "Look," he said, "we're going to get out of this, somehow." He nodded in John's direction. "Have a word with him when you can, okay?"

Rita nodded. Her face was sad as she also looked at the sobbing John Kendo. "I'll see to it once I get that recording."

"Good," Kevin said. "I'll search the office like I said, and then I'll get on the horn to Elza. We need to remake our plans, now that John's with us and his having shot our old plan to hell and all."

"Can't argue with that," Rita said. She squeezed Kevin's hand, then took it off of her shoulder. Turning, she began to walk down the partition hallway, back in the direction of the crying man.

* * * * *

Elza surveyed the small pile of things she had gathered on the tool bench in the Boiler Room, and then began to fit them inside her unlimbered backpack. If she had been digging for buried treasure, then she would have considered what she had found paydirt.

First was the roll of duct tape. She had used it right away to tape the small flashlight from the night watchman's keybox to the bottom of the barrel of her pistol. She had made sure to leave the flashlight switch clear to where she could turn it on and off as needed. She would now have to carry the combination in one of of the large leg pockets of her firesuit instead of the holster on her police gunbelt, and that meant an extra second or two to get to it, but she felt having the light on her gun instead of in her other hand justified the risk. Next was the carefully chosen set of tools. As a mechanic herself, the daughter of a former "shade tree' who had sharpened his own skills as an Army motor pool mechanic in Vietnam, Elza knew the value of having a good set of tools to work with. Given the situation they were now facing, they would probably prove themselves useful before all was said and done. She obviously couldn't take everything on the RPD tool bench, but she had chosen well. There was a good-sized adjustable crescent wrench, a good-sized reversible screwdriver with both standard and Phillips tips, a stout regular hammer, a large pair of regular pliers, a small but tough-looking pair of wire cutters, a medium-sized set of tin snips, and finally a large Zippo® cigarette lighter full of fluid. Her backpack was literally bulging at the seams by the time she was done repacking everything, but she wanted those tools as part of her gear. The only bad thing about it was that she wasn't going to be able to carry anything more until she used up some of her extra ammo – but she knew that time would come, eventually ... sooner or later. And as for Rita's wish for a sling for her new shotgun, Elza had an old long electrical cord with both ends cut off shoved inside her firesuit. It would have to do, as she hadn't been able to find any leather straps or anything like them in the Boiler Room, Once taped into place with the duct tape, though, the cord would work well enough as a "redneck sling" of sorts. Besides – she could save any leftover cord for any other uses that presented themselves.

Elza's final find in the Boiler Room turned out to be the real prize as far as Elza was concerned. As a matter of fact, she had seen it almost as soon as she had gotten a good look at the tool bench – because somebody had obviously been working on it. It had been adapted from a handheld propane blowtorch, but with certain extra fittings either attached or welded on as appropriate. It had both its own "redneck sling" - this one made from a cut piece of thick rope - and a crude shoulder brace made out of a welded-on shaped metal bar. There were also three propane cylinders sitting on one of the nearby shelving units, obviously there for use with what was now essentially an improvised flamethrower. Elza had carefully attached one of the propane cylinders to the contraption, then hung it on one shoulder and stepped back out into the basement hall. She lit the igniter on its tip with her new Zippo lighter, made an adjustment to the flame with the side feed valve, then carefully aimed the flamethrower down the hall and pressed the trigger. Instantly, a fireball shot out of the barrel that was a good ten to fifteen feet long. It only lasted for a split second, for Elza had released the trigger as soon as the fireball whoosed away from her. Now it was gone, leaving behind the peculiar and instantly recognizable smell of burned propane.

"Impressive," Elza muttered, then quickly extinguished the igniter.

Homebrew devices like this were dangerous if not properly constructed or handled – and sometimes even If they were, due to the ever-present possibility of the flame chasing back up the gas feed and making the fuel cylinder explode. Such an event would have obvious detrimental effects to anyone involved. Even so, if properly handled, and even with its limited range ... well ....

Just then Elza's radio crackled. "Elza? This is Kevin. Do you read me?"

Elza pulled out her radio from one of her firesuit pockets and keyed it. "Elza here. What's up?"

"We found John." Kevin sounded a bit disconcerted. "He found Roy, but by then Roy had already gone zombie. We saved his ass just in time."

Elza nodded, more to herself than anything else. "Well, I'm doing pretty good on my end, too. I found some tools we might need, and I also found a homemade flamethrower. Somebody was apparently building one on the tool bench. It works, too."

"How well?" the radio crackled.

"Not bad, considering it works off of normal propane cylinders. Range of about fifteen feet tops. Only works in short bursts, though, or one big one, or you'll drain these cylinders fairly quickly. The connection's standard, though, and we can probably hook it up to a bigger cylinder or even a tank if we could find one. I'm going to bring it with me along with my tools."

There was a pause on the other end. "You must be getting pretty loaded down, Miss Walker."

"I'll manage," Elza said. "The load will get less once I find some zombies to kill. I'm fixing to head upstairs and try to get into the Parking Garage. Rita gave me the code for the lock before she joined you, so I don't think I'll have a problem getting in."

"Better swing by the Armory first," Kevin responded. "Rita said she had to leave some goodies in there, since she had to hurry off because of that business with John and all that. Says they're all yours if you want them."

"Nice!" Elza said. "Give her my thanks. What about your end?"

"Well," Kevin responded, "Rita's making that recording of the Chief's voice from the tape in the Interrogation Room that we need to trip the lock to the Media Room. Once we get that missing piece to the city block puzzle up in the Chief's Office, we can get to his safe, retrieve those investigation records, and be done with that. Right now, though, I've just finished searching the other big office down here. Some interesting reading on the desks, and I found another gun locked inside the duty officer's desk. Lucky enough, I also found the small key needed to open it."

"What kind of gun?" Elza asked.

"A Glock 18," Kevin answered.

Elza couldn't help but whistle. "So now you and I both have automatic pistols. All we need to do is find an M93R upgrade kit for Rita's Beretta and she'll have one, too."

"That is, if we don't load ourselves down with too much gear first," came Kevin's reply. "Go ahead and see what you can find in the Parking Garage, and we'll try to finish up things up here."

"Roger," Elza said. "I'll call you if I find anything."

"Good. Kevin, out."

The radio crackled once more, and then went silent. Elza sighed, then headed back to the Boiler Room for her laden backpack.

* * * * *

Kevin reached the table at the end of the partition hallway in the North Office, opposite of the door that was the only way in or out, at almost the same moment as Rita and John. They appeared from the other side of the partitions just as he was about to make the turn around the table. He completed it and joined them by the office door. "Did you get it?" he asked, looking at Rita.

Rita nodded. "I got it," she said in reply. "I made sure I copied the Chief's voice as good as I could with that portable tape recorder we found." She then gave Kevin a wry smile. "Only one way to be sure, though."

"Oh-kay," Kevin said, nodding in reply. He then looked at John. "And what about you, Mister Kendo? How are you?"

"Bettah," Kendo said meekly. He met Kevin's hard gaze with a sheepish grin. "I thinks Ise over it now, thanks to Miss Rita hear. Dis girl's a lot smartah den she lets on, ya knows."

"Riiiiiight," Kevin said matter-of-factly. He wasn't convinced about John - not yet, anyway - but there was only going to be one way to find out about him. He then held up the new weapon he had just been describing to Elza on the radio. "Right before I called Elza, I found this locked in the duty officer's desk."

Rita whistled, recognizing it for what it was. "Nice piece, young man. Good find."

Kevin shrugged. "It's just as well. I'm going to have to give up my Kimber for good sooner or later, anyway, due to the ammo issue – and if I"m going to be stuck with a damn nine millimeter popgun, then I want a good one."

"You can't get much better than a Glock," Rita said, then looked at Kevin strangely. "What's wrong with your spare SiG? It was the number two choice for the RPD back when they bid out the small arms contract to John's brother."

"There's nothing wrong with the gun per se," Kevin drawled, "except the bullets are too small and so's that clip it's got. Only holds ten rounds."

"It's one more than that hand cannon of yours," Rita responded.

"Yeah, but those are .45 ACP shells, not BBs," Kevin shot back. "When I hit a man with my gun, he goes down and stays down. With a nine millimeter plinker, it usually takes two or three hits – unless you either got special rounds or hit 'em just right."

Rita shook her head. "I never will understand you men and your guns," she said, smiling as he did. "You talk like Captain Denham or Barry Burton."

"Ah, yes, the Anaconda Twins," Kevin said, smiling at the memory. "I wish I had one of those right now, or even a Casul, along with a pouch full of ready speed-loaders to boot."

Kevin suddenly stopped talking as he became aware that John was staring at him, a confused look on his face. Rita had become aware of it at the same time as did he, and now they both stared at John. The burly man appeared to be totally befuddled. He started somewhat as he realized they were both looking at him. "Ise sorry," he said, "but I doan have any idear whachew two is talkin' 'bout."

Both Kevin and Rita laughed. "Nor do we," Kevin said. "Tell you what. We'll save it for later. Are you ready now to join our little group?"

"As ready as Ise ever be," John said. A strange look suddenly passed over Kevin's face, and John quickly realized it was from the way he was wearing Roy's gun. He had slung the buckled gunbelt over one shoulder, with the gun holster within easy reach, instead of wearing it around his waist. "Sorrah," he said. He offered a weak smile to the policeman. "It doan fit."

Kevin heard Rita chuckling again, and he couldn't help but smile himself. "It'll do, I suppose," he said. "Okay everybody, check and ready your weapons." All three of them pulled their pistols and slide-chambered a round. John watched as Kevin and Rita now holstered their own pistols and made ready with their shotguns. "That hallway's probably filled back up with zombies," Kevin continued, "and we've got to make it to the stairwell if we're going to get upstairs. I'll take point. Rita, you cover our back. John, I want you in the middle. Got it?"

"Got it," Rita said. She already had her Remington at the ready, and she seemed to exude confidence.

"As ready as Ise ever be," John said from beside her. His face was set in a rather grim look. He held his gun somewhat awkwardly but firmly. The SiG was almost too small for his burly hand.

"Okay, then," Kevin said. He hefted his SPAS-12 in one hand, and put the other on the doorknob for the outer hallway door. He then looked back at the others and grinned. "Let's rock."

\------------------------------

Chapter 7 - Retrieval

Elza had made a point of stopping by the Armory on the way to the Parking Garage. Rita had said there were still some things of value in there that she had left for the younger woman, and Rita had been right. As she had said, there wasn't much remaining in the way of ammunition – but what there was almost refilled Elza's depleted supply. Elza wasn't sure about the half-dozen or so flash-bang grenades Rita had left in the case inside the locker. She would have preferred regular grenades, or even "frag-apples," as her dad used to say - but she took them anyway. It was the second of the two items that Rita had found and not taken with her, however, that Elza soon found herself donning. It was a Molle-style police tactical armor vest made of Kevlar, complete with supply pouches. It was obviously made for a man - one of somewhat less than normal build, to be sure, but still a man's armor vest - and that might have been why Rita the diminutive female had apparently left it behind. It would have been way too big for her. It didn't quite fit Elza right, either, despite the fact that she was taller than Rita, and even after worrying with the side and shoulder straps in order to adjust it as best she could. No matter what she did, something designed to snugly fit a male form simply wasn't goint to properly fit a female's – unless she was flat-chested, that is, and Elza was not. With her slender athlete's build, she was obviously no idealized Playboy model; however, she wasn't exactly lacking upstairs, either. It was simply a matter of proportion, not dimension.

Elza's upper chest now felt like she was wearing a sport bra that was at least a full size too small. She also knew she was going to have to put up with that feeling for as long as she kept wearing the armor vest. It couldn't be helped, though, because she knew she needed the armor vest for three very good reasons. First, it gave added protection from the horrors of the Outbreak. Her firesuit had done well enough, given that it had never been designed for such a thing, but she had envied Kevin's body armor from the moment she had seen it. Now she had some of her own. Second, the added pouches of the Molle-style vest gave her more room to carry supplies and other portable gear. She had already transferred part of what she had on her from her overstuffed firesuit pockets and backpack to the vest, and she could feel the difference. Third, the vest had come with a strap-on Kevlar gun holster. It was just flexible enough to accommodate both her SiG with the taped-on flashlight and her newly acquired MAC-11/9. All things considered, she thought that the armor vest had been one of her best acquisitions so far. In certain ways, it was even better than the backpack Kevin had procured for her from the SPF Office. She finished making it as comfortable as she could, then she left the Armory and headed on down to the Parking Garage.

Elza keyed the passcode Rita had provided into the Parking Garage lock's numeric keypad. It beeped in confirmation of the correct pass code being entered, and then there was an audible click of multiple lock bolts being slid back into their housing cylinders. The light directly above the keypad and to the left of the card reader flassed from red to green, indicating that the door was now unlocked. Elza breathed a sigh of relief. With her new MAC-11 autopistol held at the ready in her gun hand, she tried the Parking Garage doors. The one to her left wouldn't move (it was pegged in place), but the one on her right did. It swung inward, reveaing only a well-lit room beyond with another single door almost identical in style to the double Parking Garage doors directly in front of her. Nothing rushed out to ambush her, nor could she hear anything. It was quiet as a tomb, it seemed – but Elza had learned by now not to trust such silences where the Outbreak was concerned. Still holding her autopistol at the ready, Elza stepped into the next room.

The room turned out to be an extension of a large automobile service bay. To her immediate right at the other end of this small area was another metal door like the one now in front her. It had a standard large green EXIT sign above it, and Elza presumed - correctly, as it later turned out - that it opened directly into the Parking Garage itself. Between the door in front of her and the exit door, almost completely filling what would have been that part of the far wall, was what looked like a open and wide-gapped cantilever door. It resembled an extra wide loading door or typical garage door, save that it had multiple open panels like a wire fence. The holes weren't big enough for anything to get in or out save for rodents, and Elza wondered for a moment what it was doing there. Whatever the reason, it allowed her to see into the room beyond the door directly in front of her, and it turned out to be the rest of the service bay itself.

The Service Bay proper was a large area, being about the size of a typical machine shop or repair garage. It housed two full-sized automobile lifts, both lined up against the west wall of the room, and there was room enough to spare for easy movement around the open three sides of both. One was up and had an RPD police car on it - a late model Chevy Caprice, Elza noted off-hand - but the other was down and empty. There were hoses, rolling tool chests, crawlers, greasy rags, battery chargers, at least one arc welding rig and another of the normal variety, and all of the other odds and ends one might expect inside a garage to be seen in the expected places. Even so, Elza couldn't help but feel that something didn't look quite right in there. She stood still as a stone, studying the room through the large wall grate. Everything seemed normal, looked normal, and yet – no, there it was! A small movement on the far side of the room, in the space between the shelving unit in the far corner and a large packing crate on a moving dolly. Something had moved back there. Elza concentrated on looking, keeping her autopistol raised and at the ready, feeling the sweat begin to gather on her forehead as she strained to see what was back there at the far end of the Service Bay. Whatever it was, it wasn't trying to attack her. It was ... was it ... yes ... it was trying to hide! Strange behavior, if it were a zombie.

Elza decided to take a chance. "Hello?" she called out. "I know there's someone in here. Come on out. I'm not a zombie, and I won't hurt you. Please?"

There was a long pause. The shadow behind the large crate on the dolly shifted slightly, was still for a time, shifted again ... and then suddenly rose and took on the form of a little girl. There was fear on her grimy face, and fear glittered in the eyes under unkempt hair barely held in place by a red headband. "It must be her," Elza thought to herself in sudden realization. "This must be the little girl Kevin saw earlier." She made a point of lowering her gun, although she still held it in her hand, then dropped down on one knee. She smiled her biggest smile as she faced the scared little girl. "That's right," she said as soothingly as she could. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm human, just like you. Would you come over here so I can see you, and better talk to you? Please?"

The little girl hesitated but for a moment, and then ran across the Service Bay towards where Elza was standing, just beyond the fence-like barrier that separated them. As she approached, Elza got her first good look at her unexpected find. The little girl looked to be between ten and twelve years in age, thin in build and with cropped sandy blonde hair. She was wearing a sailor-suit type outfit that marked her as a student at the elite Spencer Academy – a private elementary school for the children of well-heeled local bigwigs and Umbrella executives. Both the little girl and her clothing were filthy, as if she had spent long hours crawling through places that hadn't been designed for human travel, and what would have under normal circumstances been a light blue school uniform blouse was now so dirty and stained that it sometimes looked tinged with yellow when the light hit it just right. Also, a distinct odor came to Elza's nose as the girl came close, and stood expectantly in front of her on the other side of the grating. The girl hadn't apparently taken a bath in at least a couple of days, and some of whatever it was she had been crawling through only added to the aroma. Elza wondered just how long the little girl had been hiding from the zombies. Since the start of the Outbreak, perhaps?

"Hi," Elza said. She extended her free hand through one of the openings. "I'm Elza Walker. Who are you?"

The little girl grasped Elza's hand with both of her own. There were tears in her eyes as she spoke. "Sherry – Sherry Birkin. Oh, I'm so glad somebody found me! I'm locked in here!"

"Locked?" Elza asked.

"Yes," Sherry said. She pointed to the door that Elza had first seen upon entering, the one that opened into the Service Bay proper beyond the large wall grate. "I ran in here to get away from some monsters, and it locked on me. Now I can't get back out!" There were tear tracks on Sherry's grimy face, and it looked as if she were about to cry again.

Elza looked over at the door. It seemed normal enough, and yet .... She withdrew her hand back through the grate, Sherry releasing hers as she did so. The little girl watched as Elza got up and walked over to the Service Bay door. She put her hand on the door handle and tried to turn it. It wouldn't even budge. "I don't think it's locked, Sherry," Elza said. "I think the door's broken."

"Can you fix it? I want outta here." Sherry shivered. "There's nowhere to go if those monsters come back."

Elza went back over to the wall grate and knelt down by Sherry. She again put her hand through one of its many holes, and Sherry quickly grasped it with both of hers. There was a pleading look in Sherry's eyes that spoke of being chased many times by the horrors which the Outbreak had spawned. "I've got some tools," Elza said. "I may need more to get this door open. If I asked you to go to that tool chest over there and get me something, could you do it?"

"Uh-huh."

"All right then." Elza finally put aside her gun, and pulled out her radio instead. "The first thing I gotta do, though, is call my friends. That way, they'll know where we are."

"Where are they?"

"Upstairs, trying to get some things we want to take with us when we leave. I'm going to call them, and then I'm going to do what I can to get you out of here."

"Thank you ... Miss Walker."

Elza shook her head. "You can call me Elza," she said.

"But that wouldn't be right," Sherry protested. "Mom says I'm never supposed to call a grown-up by their first name."

Elza sighed. Sherry definitely had an old-fashioned mother when it came to manners – and yet it wouldn't be right of her to tell the little girl how out-of-date her mother's prissiness might be. She thought a moment, then said, "Would your mother let you call me Miss Elza?"

Sherry considered the question. "I think so," she said slowly.

Elza smiled and nodded. "Well then, Miss Elza it is – and no argument. Okay?"

"Oh-kay."

Elza now thumbed the mike on her radio. "Kevin? Rita? This is Elza. Are you there?"

* * * * *

Getting out of the North Office on the first floor of the RPD for the second time around had turned out to be a lot harder than getting in, or even getting out the first time. The narrow hallway was now literally crawling with zombies – and more were coming in all the time. The reason for this was twofold. First, they had managed to break out one of the side windows between the back door end of the West Hallway and the security shutter. They could now climb into the hallway directly across Kevin's only line of retreat for himself and his two companions. The other happened about three seconds after the three of them had gotten stuck about a third of the way down the hallway, making no headway and doing their best to hold what little ground they had gained.. They heard a loud clang! and a clatter at the far end of the hallway, and then at least four zombies practically fell into the T-junction just beyond the open security shutter.

Rita looked at Kevin, and the two exchanged knowing glances. "Lobby door," Rita grimaced in a low tone – and then turned and blasted a zombie trying to crawl in through the hole in the back door defenses.

"Yeah," Kevin said evenly. "Must have chanced on how to open it. Fuckin' 'A'. I wonder how they did that." He was methodically working the pump on his SPAS-12, trying to clear enough of a hole in front of them to get past the broken window. It wasn't working. For every two or three zombies he blasted, two or three more would promply flop through the broken window ... and he was almost out of shells in the shotgun's magazine.

The bark of John's newly acquired pistol added a brisk staccato to Kevin and Rita's combined shotgun fire. "What da hell do we do now?" John said. "We gonna run outta ammo damn quick like dis!"

"I got an idea," Rita said. "You'll have to trust me, guys."

Rita quickly fished in her backpack with one hand, then brought it out just in time to use her wrist to brace her shotgun as she fired again, knocking down yet another zombie behind them. Kevin took a quick glance at what Rita now held in her hand, and his eyes widened. "Is that what I think it is?" he said, his voice rising a bit.

"You bet your life," Rita grinned – and then suddenly exclaimed, as she threw the object down the hall, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!!!" All three of them dropped as low as they could, still firing and trying to shield their eyes at the same time ... and the 40mm Mark 84 stun grenade went off about a second later.

A stun grenade, or a "flash-bang" as it is more commonly known in paramilitary speak, does not work like a normal grenade. It is not designed to kill or maim as many people as possible within its effective blast radius. It is instead a shock-and-awe device. It uses both a blinding flash of light and an ultra-high blast of sound, usually 180 decibels or more (louder than a typical rock concert), to literally stun its victims into immobile senselessness. The blinding flash is achieved by a small phosphorous-based incindeary, which will cause total blindness for at least five seconds if a target was looking directly at or anywhere close to its explosion. Both the sound and the shock wave from the grenade causes total or near-total loss of hearing for far longer, and frequently upsets the target's inner ear fluids – for is how the human body maintains its balance. The end result is one or more targets that are rendered totally blind, totally deaf, and practically falling on the floor and unable to stand back up again for at least several seconds. That is how a "flash-bang" type stun grenade would normally work in a normal environment and against normal human targets. What happened next, as the one that Rita had thrown within that confined space exploded near a group of closely packed zombies, was quite unexpected.

The narrowness of the hallway in which the flash-bang grenade exploded acted as an oversized gun barrel, compressing and focusing the effects of the blast, and then channeling it both up and down the hallway in a concentrated shock wave more like that of a true concussion grenade. Every panes of glass in the hallway, from all of the outside windows to the vent windows of the North Office and the inset window in the North Office door, were shattered almost instantly. The three zombies closest to the blast died instantly. Another half-dozen or so were thrown off their feet and blown in both directions up and down the hallway. At least one was eviscerated by flying shrapnel from the grenade casing, and still another that had been lucky enough to survive the blast was set on fire from the ignited phosphorous used to create the flash. The entire hallway was lit with a blinding light for about two seconds – and once it began to die down, carnage was visible everywhere. All of the surviving zombies in the hall had collapsed, blinded and rendered deaf by the flash and shock wave, and were flopping around in a wild effort to regain their balance and get back up.

Kevin, John and Rita had not been entirely immune to the effects of the blast. They could barely see, and their vision was framed in a painful half-red haze. All they could hear was a terrible ringing in their ears, and it was all they could do to keep on their feet. Nevertheless, they did somehow. Groping their way through that seething and wailing mass of undead bodies, the three of them somehow managed to stumble all the way down the hall and to the stairwell door. Kevin yanked it open, then drunkenly shoved both John and Rita through before following them himself. The door latched closed behind them, but they were already half-staggering and half-crawling their way up to the next floor. They didn't stop until they reached the landing that held the second floor fire door ... and there, they wearily leaned against the landing walls, unable to go on anymore.

John was still shaking his head and batting his eyes. "Good Gawd, Miss Rita," he exclaimed. "Now dat was ballzy! Really ballzy!!"

"Ditto," Kevin grimaced, rubbing his own eyes with one hand. He looked over at Rita, who was working her own eyelids. "That was too close for comfort."

"Don't knock it," Rita said, with a bit of edge in her voice. "It worked, didn't it?" She blinked her eyes one last time, then looked over at Kevin. Her voice suddenly softened and took on a note of concern. "Hey, you're bleeding."

"I am?" Kevin said. "I don't feel anything."

"Probably the shock," Rita said. She fished in one of her pockets and came out with a hankerchief. "Cut on your cheek. Looks nasty, but it's probably just a flesh wound. Here, let me." And with that, she leaned over to him and began dabbing at the cut.

Kevin flinched involuntarily as pain shot through his right cheek, but he steeled himself and didn't flinch again. "No wonder," he said aloud, "with all that glass flying."

"I should have guessed it would do that," Rita said, as she continued to clean the cut. "Superficial, like I thought. It's already starting to scab over."

Kevin looked at Rita, who was by now quite close to him. "Thanks," he said. "I've got some Band-Aids."

"Shouldn't need one," Rita said, "unless you just want one." Kevin shook his head. "Tell you what," Rita continued. "I'll put some disenfectant spray on it all the same. Just a minute."

As she turned to reach into her backpack, Rita saw John out of the corner of her eye. She frowned. Kevin, noticing the frown, turned to look himself. The burly laborer had a wolfish grin on his face as he sat there watching the two. "Oh, doan mind me," he said in a mirthful tone. "I'm jes' enjoyin' da show."

Rita immediately moved away from Kevin. She went ahead and fished the can of spray out of her pack, growling at John as she did so. "Knock it off, Mr. Kendo." She then turned back to Kevin. "Now close your eyes and hold still." And with that, she carefully sprayed Kevin's right cheek.

Kevin couldn't help but flinch again. The disinfectant stung as the spray from the can hit the cut on his cheek. It was all he could do to keep from reaching up and rubbing at it. "Okay, I think that's got it." Rita said. "You can open your eyes now." He opened them to see her glaring at the grinning John. "Okay, bub," she growled, "show's over." She now looked at Kevin. "What now, boss?"

"Continue on as before," Kevin said. "Now that we're at the second floor, we go unlock the Media Room and get that puzzle piece we need to open the Chief's safe upstairs. After that the real fun begins." He suddenly stopped, looked over at John, then again at Rita. "Why am I the only one with a glass cut?" he asked.

"You're de leadah," John suggested. "You gits evahthing furst."

The two officers looked at each other, then back at him. John returned their looks with a puzzled expression. "What?" he asked. "What'd I say?"

Kevin shook his head. "Never mind," he said, shooting Rita a sidewise grin.

John grunted. "What I wants ta know," he muttered, "is how dose zombehs got dat damn door open."

"Well," Rita said, "all of the main doors use push-type thumb latches on one side and pushbars on the other. That's standard just about wherever you go. So unless the door is locked, and that one wasn't, all you have to do is push on the latch or push bar in just the right way and with just enough strength, and it'll open up. My guess is the sheer weight of all those zombies pressing up against that door, and down on the latch on that side, was enough to make it come open." She looked at Kevin. "What do you think?"

Before Kevin could answer, the call tone sounded on both of their radios. Both Kevin and Rita lifted up theirs at once. All John could do was watch them. Elza's voice, distorted by the occasional crackle of static, sounded from the twin speakers. "Kevin? Rita? This is Elza. Are you there?"

"Kevin here," Kevin responded. "Both Rita and John are with me, and we're safe for now. What's up?"

"I found your little girl, Mister Ryman. She's trapped in the Service Bay of the Parking Garage due to a broken door lock. I've got some tools, though, and I'm going to try to get her out of there."

"This is Rita," the female officer interjected, as she keyed her mike. "It isn't bad, is it? It isn't going to take a cutting torch or such?"

"No, no," Elza replied. "It's just broken, not busted. I should have it open in a jiffy."

Kevin nodded, although only Rita and John could see him. "That's good. We're on our way upstairs to get what we need to get the Chief's Umbrella case files and get out of here. Be advised that the zombies have overrun more of the first floor." He shot his companions a wry smile. "It looks like they may have chanced upon how to open the doors."

"Oh God, that's not good," Elza said. "Will you be able to make it back down here?"

"We'll just have to see," Kevin said. "In the meantime, first things first. We're going to get those files, then head back your way as soon as we can. Get that girl out of there, find us a vehicle that's still in good shape, and we'll use it to get out of town. Got it?"

"Got it, Mister Ryman. Sounds like a plan to me. Elza, out."

The two police officers restowed their radios. Suddenly Rita reached into her pack and drew out their last radio. She offered it to John. "In case we get separated," she said. "It's the last good one we've got."

John took the proffered radio. It looked small in his big hand. "Uhhh, thanks," he said. He casually stuck it into one of his back pockets. "Ah guess dis makes me part of da team now, eh?"

"Whatever," Kevin said. "All right, everyone check your weapons, and ammo up if your clips are short. We don't know what's changed since we were last up here, and I don't want anyone getting surprised. Got it? Now let's get to it."

As the three of them began checking their weapons and ammo clips, Rita nudged Kevin in the side. He looked at her, but all she did was smile at him and mouth the words, "Good job." He grinned, winked at her, and went back to checking his guns.

* * * * *

After she finished talking to the others on her radio, Elza restowed it and eyed the door with the broken lock that separated her from Sherry. She studied it for a moment, then reached into her backpack and pulled out the reversible screwdriver she had picked up earlier from the tool bench in the Boiler Room. She flipped the reversible tip so that it now had its Phillips head fitted, then set to work on removing the four screws that held the outer lock plate to the door. Sherry watched her work, occasionally rocking back and forth on her heels. "Were those your friends?" she finally said.

"I guess you could say that," Elza answered. She did not look up, but remained concentrated on removing those screws.

"Why can't they just come back down? What is it they've got to get?"

"Something important," Elza said.

"I heard that man talk about getting something for Umbrella. Is it something important?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Oh."

One screw had now been removed. Elza looked up at Sherry, smiled, then started to remove the second one. "Look, Sherry, I can't tell you what it is, because it's police stuff, but we've got to get it and take it with us if we can before we leave. Okay?"

"Okay." Sherry now sounded surprisingly cheerful. "I'm just glad it was you who found me. You seem like a nice person."

"Uh-huh," Elza said. She stayed focused on her work, but continued the small talk anyway. Sherry sounded like she needed to talk. Elza again wondered how long during the Outbreak had the little girl been hiding. A day? Two days? Ever since it started? She thought for a while as she continued to work the screwdriver, then spoke. "How did you get here in the first place, Sherry?"

Sherry looked up at the ceiling as she rocked back and forth on her heels. The action spoke of wheels turning inside her child's mind. "Well ..." she began, "... people started turning into monsters when I was at school. The school security guards shot a lot of them, but there were too many, and it looked like they were going to take over the school. Then one of my teachers and two security guards came and got me. They said they had orders from my mother to take me to the police station because that was the safest place in town."

"Makes sense," Elza commented. She removed the second screw, set it aside, then began to work on the third.

"Anyway," Sherry continued, "they were driving me to the police station when we turned a corner and ran straight into a bunch of people. Only they weren't people anymore." Sherry looked troubled, and gazed at the floor. "They had all

turned into monsters. They attacked us. They pulled my teacher out of the car and ... and ...."

Elza stopped and looked up. Sherry seemed as if she were about to cry. Elza again reached through the wall grate, offering her hand. Sherry clasped it firmly within her own. "It's all right," Elza said, as soothingly as she could. "You don't have to tell me that part. Okay?"

Sherry nodded. "Okay," she replied in a small voice. She tried to smile, but it came out as more of a worried grimace.

Elza squeezed Sherry's hands with her own, holding them for a moment, then let go and pulled her hand back through the grate. "I'd better get you out of here as soon as I can," she said, as she picked her screwdriver back up and again went to work on the lock plate. "Anyway, the zombies attacked, and they took your teacher. What next?"

Sherry again resumed her heels-rocking storytelling pose. "Well ... the security guards got me out of the car and away before the zombies could get us, but it took almost all of their bullets. They chased us for a long time, and in the end they got both of my guards. I was alone after that." She let out a deep sigh. "I didn't know where I was. I haven't been to Raccoon City very much, and I was lost. I finally found a city map on the wall of in one of those booths they use for people waiting for the bus, and it showed where the police station was. After that, all I had to do was get here."

"Lucky you," Elza said, but there was a note of admiration in her voice. For the little girl to have survived that long, after all of her protectors had been killed, well ... that said something about her. "What next?" she asked, as she set the third screw aside, and began to work on the fourth.

"That's the funny thing," Sherry said. She stopped rocking on her heels and looked at Elza. "My teacher told me that Mom had called the police station to let the Chief know that I was coming. Only when I got here, he said Mom had never called."

"That is weird," Elza said, as she continued to work on the last screw. "Who does your mom work for, by the way?"

"Umbrella."

Elza almost dropped her screwdriver. "Umbrella?!" she half-exclaimed.

Sherry looked at her strangely. "Are you all right?" she asked. "I thought everybody around here worked for Umbrella."

The simple innocence in Sherry's voice told Elza that the little girl probably didn't have a clue about what was really going on, and why it had happened. Best not to tell her – for now, anyway, she thought to herself. She sounded like she loved her mother, and Elza didn't want to stain any image that Sherry might have had about her mother and the work she did. Furthermore, what Sherry had said about everyone working for Umbrella was true, or almost true in its own way. Almost everyone in Raccoon City either worked directly for Umbrella or were or had been associated with the global pharmaceutical giant in some way. Even Elza's own hands weren't exactly clean on that particular subject, she admitted to herself. Instead, she swallowed hard, then looked at Sherry and forced a smile. "I'm fine, Sherry. My hand just slipped, that's all."

"Oh." She watched as Elza picked the screwdriver back up, then resumed working on the last screw. "Do you work for Umbrella?"

Elza's face transformed into a tight-lipped smile. "I'm able to go to school at the university because of Umbrella's scholarship program. Let's leave it at that, okay?"

"Okay." Sherry seemed a bit unsure, but took the hint and did not press the subject.

It was about that time when Elza managed to finish removing the fourth screw from the latch plate. "There we go," she said, as she pulled the latch plate back as far as she could. She had to work it a bit to get it free of the handle, but soon enough she was setting it on the floor beside her flamethrower. When she lifted her head and looked at Sherry again, she was grinning. "Now that I can get at the lock—"

Elza never finished what she was going to say. She was interrupted by a very loud and frightening series of sounds that happened almost simultaneously. One was the piercing scream of a terrified woman in deadly peril. The other was the half-snarling, half-slavering racket caused by at least two infected K-9s yelping for all their worth. Intermingled with these sounds were two more – the sound of heavy objects hitting and then leaving the sides and tops of various vehicles, and the peculiarly creepy ticking sound of animal claws on both concrete and metal.

The young woman and the little girl looked at each other, alarm written on both their faces. Elza dropped her screwdriver and grabbed her autopistol. She then looked at Sherry. "I gotta go," she said. "Somebody needs help."

"Don't leave me ..." Sherry said, almost pleading.

"Go hide," Elza said hurriedly, "back there where I first saw you. I don't have the door open yet, so that means nothing can get in here. You'll still be safe. I'll be back – promise. Now go hide!" And with that Elza turned and bounded for the Parking Garage door.

* * * * *

It had only been a few seconds ago when Umbrella junior researcher Linda Merton had finally drifted back into consciousness. Her head throbbed unmercifully, and both her neck and shoulders ached from having whiplashed against her seat belt during the crash. Before her was the right-hand side of a large starburst shatter in the safety glass of the truck windshield ... one that led her eyes inevitably to the dead man beside her. The truck's driver, a stout Umbrella Security Service operative in full gear save for his helmet and face shield, had not been wearing a seat belt. He was now partly draped over the steering wheel, his limp limbs at odd angles and his head hanging down at an unnatural angle which spoke of a broken neck. His forehead was gashed, and the blood that had once ran down his face was now dripping into his lap. Perhaps the man had thought that his body armor alone would save him. Perhaps he had been an unbelted fool, like so many others who had died in accidents that way ever since the automobile became used in numbers on the nation's roadways. It really didn't matter, anyway. All that mattered right now wasthat her driver was dead and she was still alive – and she didn't have any clue as to what to do from here.

Linda had been having a bad day. No, a bad week was more like it – or perhaps even a bad past few months. It had all started when she had vied for and won that junior research intern's job at the Umbrella branch labs in Chicago. She was straight out of postgraduate school, and gaining such a prestigious job so early after graduating had seemed at the time like a real coup. After all, Umbrella operated on a global scale, and there were plenty of jobs and places to work for an aspiring and ambitious young woman like her. All of her hopes and dreams had failed to take the human factor into the equation, however. She had somehow gotten on the bad side of the wife of her boss at the lab, Dr. William Birkin, and she had a good idea as to why. After all, he had been extremely nice to her, and he was also attractive in a sort of dorky and mustached, three-day-bearded Don Johnson kind of way. She had dearly wanted to be more than just friends; however, the fact that he was married plus her own moral scruples would have ensured that never happened ... only Annette didn't see it that way. Linda had never been involved in an affair and never intended to be, but Annette had apparently convinced herself that Linda had been trying to steal her husband all along. Annette's insane jealousy, further compounded with that business with the corporate spy at the Chicago labs, had resulted in Linda being transferred many miles away to the company public lab facility in downtown Raccoon City. Annette had treated her as the erstwhile spy even though there was plenty of proof of her innocence, and the entire affair was just the excuse Annette had needed to take her out, Linda ruefully mused. Because of all that, she was now working in the hind end of nowhere and as little more than a step-and-fetch it to the downtown lab's chief researcher, Dr. Linda Baldwin. Not only had it been a demotion, it had also been a humiliation – and Annette Birkin was entirely to blame.

One thing Linda had soon realized after her transfer was that she thoroughly hated her new job. Oh, Dr. Baldwin was nice enough, and apparently was aware enough of her plight to arrange for the occasional mildly interesting thing to do, but it wasn't the same. Raccoon City was no Chicago. And then there was that little creep, Michael Carter, Linda's smarmy research assistant, who acted like he always knew more than anyone around him. He was an ass, and his old-fashioned coke-bottle glasses only served to accent that impression. He also cracked a lot of bad jokes about her and Dr. Baldwin having the same first name, and seemed to be hinting that he wanted to know the new girl at the lab better than Linda Merton would have ever considered. That was all before the Outbreak, of course.

What had topped it all was when she had been ordered to ride shotgun in a delivery truck to the old RPD station downtown. Rodriguez, the cold-as-hell Hispanic who was the chief security officer for Umbrella's downtown lab, had been brief but explicit in his orders. "You're to go downtown and get Assistant Chief Clemons to sign for a special delivery we're sending him in this truck to help with both the situation and his investigation. It will take care of everything." The look in his eyes had denied both questions and debate, and so she went ... and so she was here now, thankful to still be alive. If only the driver hadn't lost control of the truck when he had swerved to avoid the zombies crowding around the police station! She was lucky enough to have survived the crash. She wondered how much longer her luck would hold.

Linda got her answer a few seconds later, when something dark and loud bounded up and hurled itself at the front of the wrecked truck. It filled the broken glass in front of Linda, displaying a head straight out of a monster movie nightmare and with the broken teeth and bloody saliva to match. It fell back down, then bounded up again – tearing at the broken windshield with its front paws. Linda screamed in terror. There was nothing else she could do, for there was nowhere for her to flee. If the thing ever finished the job of breaking the windshield that the wreck had started, she was dead and she knew it. The thought drove her to scream again, and again, and again. She looked frantically at the passenger side door beside her – but just then there was a loud thump! as something hit the door, and a second or two later a second snarling head leapt into view beyond its window. In the meantime, the first one kept jumping and pawing frantically at the front windshield, tearing out bits and pieces of the broken glass in its frenzied effort to get at her, snarling and barking and bleeding all the while from cuts and gashes in its paws and pawpads – smearing the cracked windshield with its own blood.

It was at that moment when Linda, frightened beyond all belief, lost control of her bladder. She simply couldn't take it any more. Her underwear, hose, uniform skirt, and the seat beneath them were soaked at once, as the pungent aroma of urine filled the air – but Linda was beyond both caring and reason. She knew she was about to die, and it was going to be both a painful and intimately horrible experience. Getting ripped apart by what looked for all the world like two rabid police dogs raised from the dead was the last way in the world she had expected to go. It was no wonder that she did what she did. Many people in her predicament would have done the same. Not that it mattered one bit. Would it matter after those things broke in and ripped out her throat?

Suddenly there was the sound of automatic gunfire. A hail of bullets peppered the side of the panel truck. It was a miracle that none of them penetrated the side and hit her. Linda heard the thing just outside the door go flying, giving out a peculiar high-pitched yelp like an angry monkey as the impact of the bullets knocked it into the truck door. Directly in front of her, the other one jumped off the driver's side of the hood, and Linda could hear both growling and the click-clicking sound of large claws on pavement, as it circled around the backside of the truck in order to get at its would-be attacker. Then there was another growl – but it instead turned in mid-growl into another one of those high-pitched, monkey-like death wails, as the sound of an automatic weapon being fired filled the air again. After that, all was silence ... until footfalls began to approach the van. They stopped beside the passenger side door, and it was suddenly wrenched open. A young blond woman in a red racing firesuit with big biker boots, wearing both a backpack and an armor vest, her odd outfit accented by an empty tactical holster on one leg, stood there holding a still-smoking autopistol in one hand and looked at her. "All you all right?" she asked.

"Yes!" Linda half-wailed, half-sobbed. "Oh, God!! Oh, gaaaawwwwd!!!" After that, she went into hysterics.

Elza said nothing at the woman's behavior. She could well understand what was going through her mind, although she was glad that she herself was made of far sterner stuff. A particularly sharp odor caught her nose, and she wrinkled her nostrils. It was coming from the cab of the truck, and the seat on which Linda sat was wet. Elza bit her lip but said nothing. Instead, she reached over and unbuckled the woman's seat belt, then helped her to get out of the van. Hand in hand, the younger and calmer woman leading the older and still half-hysterical one, they began to move towards the far door by the Service Bay entrance through which Elza had first come.

Suddenly, both women stopped in their tracks. They had both become aware of a loud thumping noise coming from behind them. Both turned to see the box back of the wrecked Umbrella delivery truck began to shake and shudder, as if ... as if something inside were trying to get out.

Elza looked at Linda, and her eyes were ablaze. "What's in there?!" she demanded.

"I don't know!" Linda exclaimed. Her eyes had gone wide with fright again. "I was ordered to bring it here and have the Chief sign for it! That's all!! I swear!!!"

Just then the cantilever back door of the delivery truck was ripped open from the inside. The truck's rear loading ramp, which had been in the up position, suddenly went flying from a massive blow and slammed into a nearby parked police car, smashing in its side and roof and shattering its top-mounted lights. Two massive scaly hands bearing great ivory claws tore away the last pieces of the door, and then something big leapt out through the hole. It alighted on the pavement of the Parking Garage about ten feet away from the wrecked truck, in the direction of both women, and a second later was joined by another whatever-it-was. Both of them stood there, bow-legged and slightly hunched at their massive shoulders, and with menacing lizard-like eyes regarded the two human women before them.

Elza had never seen anything like these creatures in her entire life. In trying to describe them long after the events of the Outbreak were over, she would put it this way:

It was like a cross between a horney toad and a giant bullfrog, but it had the bulk and muscles of a gorilla and the mind of a man. They were big as bodybuilders or giant apes. They were all covered in scales, but their skin was the color of a bullfrog's, and they had legs like a bullfrog, too – save that they could stand on them, bowlegged like a monkey and not like a man. Those legs were probably why they could leap so high and so far. They were massive, but they were also fast, too – and you could tell right away that they weren't just dumb animals. It was the way they looked at you. Hell, I still get chills thinking about that look. They'd stare at you with those unblinking reptile eyes of theirs, and you'd know right away that there was more going on inside their heads than just catching flies. I mean, I saw a lot of strange things during my escape from Raccoon City, but those were definitely among the strangest – and most scary, too.

All of the blood had drained from Linda's face, and it now wore a new kind of fear. Not stark raving terror this time, as before, but the fear of a known evil, one that you never imagine is ever going to cross your path only to find it waiting for you around the next turn. "Hunters," she said in a very quiet voice. "Hunters .... They're going to kill us! She wants me dead! Oh, God DAMN!!!" And with that, she dropped to her knees and scuttled under the nearest vehicle as fast as she could – leaving Elza alone to face their new foes.

The two creatures - hunters, as Linda had named them - had watched the woman's reaction with what could only be described as amused stares. After Linda disappeared under the vehicle (where she remained, whimpering and moaning), they turned to look at each other. Elza heard what sounded like a strange clicking noise coming from both of them, as each turned its head to one side and formed a look on its face that Elza would have sworn was a bemused grin. As for the weird sounds both were making, it sounded almost like a kid playing with a picket fence, rattling its slats with a small stick while running by. Could it be ... were the two of them ... laughing ... at Linda? The clicking suddenly stopped, and then both of them turned to look at her. This time, there was no mistaking their expression. It was the malicious grin of the predator about to corner its prey, and both now showed maws full of needle-sharp fangs as they grinned wide at her. Elza in turn grinned back, narrowing her eyes, as she gripped her autopistol and held it at the ready. She remembered a couple of classic lines from two of her favorite old movies, and felt that now was the time to evoke it. "So," she said evenly, "you wanna piece of me?" She set herself for what she knew was about to happen. Her next spoken words were as cold as ice. "Well? Come get some."

There was the clicking noise again ... and then the Parking Garage filled with automatic weapons fire and the sound of unnatural bestial cries.

* * * * *

Compared to what they had just been through downstairs, the second visit of Kevin and Rita to the RPD's second floor was rather anticlimatic. John was nervous, and understandably so. He was expecting a zombie around every corner, now that he had "finally gotten his act together," as Kevin would later put it. He didn't know that Kevin, Rita, and Elza had pretty much cleared this floor of enemies not long long before. The only zombie that should still be alive had been left to his own devices in the Radio Room – and if it hadn't figured out how to open doors, as some of the zombies apparently had, then it should still be there. That left only two things to worry about: crows or anyhing else that could fly in either through the broken window in the main hallway or the open vent in the Archive Hallway, plus whatever might have wound up trapped inside the Media Room itself when the door was closed. Kevin and Rita were more preoccupied with the latter. If there had been any other way to get the puzzle piece they needed and then get the hell ouf of there, they would have done just that. Better to face the known enemy than the unknown one. That was why they paid little attention to the infected crows fluttering about in the second floor main hallway, other than to down them with pistol shots. There was no point in wasting shotgun ammo on them. What shells they had for both shotguns were showing signs of running low, thanks to their earlier downstairs battle. It was fortunate that the three humans now carefully moving through the second floor hallways were not being called upon for a repeat performance of said battle.

The trio finally stopped at the sealed Media Room security door. John looked at it, then let out a low whistle. "Built lak a bank vault," he muttered, then looked at Kevin. "Wha'da hell you folks keep in hear, anyways?"

"Official police records," Rita said, as she fished the portable tape recorder out of her backpack. "Evidence collected in current crimes. Evidence being held on cold cases, and so on. There are certain people who would like to see some of this stuff go away, and would make it do so if they could." By now she had gotten the tape recorder in position, holding it as close to the complex locking mechanism as she could. She nodded at Kevin. "Ready when you are, boss," she said.

"All right," Kevin said in approval. "Don't anybody else talk until she's done."

The two men fell silent as the female RPD officer pressed the PLAY button on the tape recorder. A voice began coming from its small and somewhat tinny speaker.

Hello. This is Robert Clemons, station chief ...

As soon as the word hello had been uttered, a yellow "CHECKING" message had flashed across the lock's tiny display. Seconds later, the light on the lock proper on the door changed from red to green. The word "APPROVED" now appeared in the display, and there was the sound of multiple automatic bolts being withdrawn. At the end was a loud hissssssss and a ker-CHUNK!, and after that all became silent again. Rita looked at the two men and grinned. "I think we can get in now, " she said with confidence.

Kevin walked up to the security door and pushed on the door latch. It slid back and into the nearby wall, revealing a darkened hallway with a check-in window to their left and an open door directly in front of them just beyond the window. Beyond the doorway, there was a sharp left turn, and the amount of light coming in appeared to indicate that the Media Room proper was just around that corner turn. Holding his pistol at the ready, Kevin moved through both doorways and around the turn – and the others were not far behind.

The Media Room was as Rita had described to John. In fact it reminded Kevin strongly of the far smaller File Storage Room at the new station, save for the difference in both size and layout. Both shelving units and assorted detritus awaited their searching eyes – and down at the far end of the room were objects Kevin clearly recognized as evidence storage lockers. "If you had taken the new station's File Storage and Evidence Rooms and set them back to back," Kevin would later say, "you'd pretty much have the old station's Media Room – contents and all."

Glancing around, Kevin soon found for what he sought. He quickly moved towards it, speaking as he did so. "Duty officer's desk. The keys to the lockers will be in there, or a least a spare set."

"Are you going to search every evidence locker?" Rita asked.

Kevin nodded. "And every shelf, box, collapsible file folder, and anything else into which our puzzle piece might have been put for safekeeping."

"Damn! Dat's gonna take time," John muttered.

"Then we'd better start now," Kevin said. He rummaged around in one of the top drawers of the desk until he found for what he was looking, and then pulled it out. Kevin now held a jangling set of small keys in his free hand. He came back from the desk and handed them to Rita. "Rita, I want you to start on the lockers. John, I want you to take the row of shelves around the turn where we came in, and I'll start at this end. Come back around when you're done, John, and we'll all meet in the middle at the desk."

John looked doubtful. "What 'er we lookin' fer?" he said.

"Believe it or not," Kevin replied, " a toy building."

John gave Kevin one of those looks that says, "What did you just say?!" but didn't say anything out loud. Instead, he looked over at Rita – who nodded her head. "He's right, John," Rita said. "We've got to get into a safe that's secured inside a big scale model of Raccoon City in the Chief's office, and that toy building of Kevin's is missing from the model. It's a key of sorts. That's what we need to get to the safe."

"A toy building ...." John repeated, still none too convinced.

"That's right," Rita said. "Now it could be anything - a skyscraper, a warehouse, a school, or whatever - but there's a hole in that city model where it's supposed to go. Once we put it in place, the safe will be revealed, we can get what we need out of it, and then we can get the hell outta here."

"I think that pretty much explains it," Kevin said quickly, before John could ask another question. "Okay, people, the sooner we get this done, the faster we can be outta here. Let's hop to it, okay?"

Rita nodded, and took the ring of keys with her as she began walking down toward the far end of the Media Room. John nodded once, mumbled something under his breath that Kevin didn't quite hear, and was around the shelves to the other side before Kevin could press the issue. Kevin shook his head, then began searching each shelf on every shelving unit in his self-assigned area.

Kevin found a lot of interesting things during his search, although none of them were what he wanted. He moved methodically from top to bottom, from left to right until he finished one unit, then turned around and did the same to its mate against the far wall. When he was done with that one, he turned back around and started all over with the next shelving unit to his right. He had gone through three of these, and was just starting a fourth, when Rita suddenly exclaimed, "I think I found it!" He looked up to see her trotting towards him, holding something in her hand. He heard rather than saw John come around from the other side of the center aisle of shelving units, but did not look at him. Instead, his eyes were focused on what was in Rita's hand. It was an object measuring about an inch-and-a-half square, made mostly of cardboard but with a metal base. Above the base, it had been painted and detailed in order to resemble a rather familiar-looking store belonging to a quite well-known department store chain based in the South.

"Might have known it would have been something like this," Rita said with a smile. "'Hide in plain sight,' as the saying goes?" She looked around Kevin at John, and her eyebrows raised. "What have you got there, John?"

Kevin now turned to look at their companion. John was holding a scoped hunting rifle in one hand and a box of cartridges in the other. From the rifle hung a tag that clearly read HOLD FOR EVIDENCE. Kevin looked sternly at the other man, but John returned his stare and there was a hint of defiance in his eyes.

"Foun' dis on da shelf over dere," John said. "I wuz gonna say sunfun, but Miss Rita beat me to it."

"Nice piece," Kevin said, "but that's evidence from a crime scene. I don't think--"

"Kevin," Rita interrupted. "Let him have it."

Kevin turned to look at her. "You know procedure," he said. "You of all people—"

"Yes, but that's under normal circumstances," Rita quickly interjected. "These ain't normal, and we need every gun we can get – especially one that comes with its own shells. And that's a thirty-ought-six hunting rifle, Kevin, or I'm a monkey's uncle – and with a scope to boot. It'll do damage at long ranges which our pistols and shotguns can't even touch."

Kevin looked at Rita for a minute, and the female RPD officer looked back at him. John stood there watching them both, unsure of what to say, so he said nothing. After a while, Kevin sighed and lowered his eyes. "All right," he said. "Take it. We got what we actually came here for. This will be a freebie. Now let's go."

John grinned, shoved the box of shells into his last free pocket, stuck his right arm through the rifle's sling, then slung the rifle over his shoulder. "Okay, boss," he said. "I'm ready. Let's go."

Kevin looked at Rita, who merely shrugged her shoulders. He then waved towards the door on the other side of the shelving units, doing his best to keep from looking disgusted.

* * * * *

The rest of the visit to the second floor was without incident. They had stopped at the Medical Room on their way back to the stairwell to replenish their medical supplies. They had the extra room now, due to all of the ammo they had been forced to use below to fight their way back up here – and as Rita pointed out, they probably wouldn't be back this way again. Best to get as many of those virus-resistant herb powders that the late Robert Novak had prepared and that they could carry. While they were there, Kevin found a small shoulder bag full of various medical devices. He emptied it and handed it to John. "I don't think you could stuff any more in your pockets," he said. "This'll help."

"Thanks," John said, accepting the bag.

"Not at all," Kevin said.

John's new bag was promptly filled halfway with herb powders and first aid supplies, and the rest with all of the contents of his pockets save for his radio. That he kept in his hip pocket. "Jes' in case," he said, as he slung the bag on his other shoulder, opposite of his new rifle. "Ya never know who's gonna call." Kevin shot Rita a look at that comment, but all she did was grin.

The trio were now in the stairwell, closing in on the third floor landing. Kevin suddenly stopped them with a hand signal. "Listen," he said in a hushed whisper. The others strained to hear. It was a muffled rustling sound, and it was coming from the other side of the third floor stairwell door.

"Crows," Rita half-whispered, half hissed.

"Yeah," Kevin said. He was about to say more, when he was interrupted by a loud metallic crash from the bottom of the stairwell – promptly accompanied by zombie moans and the sound of many bodies begining to shuffle up the stairs. "That tears it," Kevin said, holstering his pistol and unlimbering his SPAS-12. "Follow me!" he commanded, as he yanked open the stairwell door and barged on through.

There were three crows in the U-shaped hallway beyond the stairwell door. How they got in there was fairly obvious. Two of the windows in the hallway were shattered, with their glass lying on the inside of the building. Kevin remembered that those windows had been cracked earlier - possibly from infected crows or other such birds flying into them, trying to get inside - and now they had finally made it. He only gave the matter scant thought, however. One blast from his SPAS-12 was enough to down all three crows. Rita and John were right on his heels as he made both turns in the hall at top speed, ran for the far fire door, and yanked it open. Before he could run through, however, a "fat cop" zombie practically fell through the door. It had revived and transformed, and now wore the deadly claws and bloody skin tones of a Crimson Zombie. The thing was on top of Kevin before he could even respond, and bore him down to the floor – its blood-and-saliva filled mouth seeking for the softness of his neck. Before it could find its target, however, it was suddenly pulled off of Kevin and flung aside, and then another shotgun roared – and roared again. The thing went down even as Kevin scrambled to his feet to find John standing beside him in a bar brawler's stance, with Rita holding her shotgun at the ready just behind. Kevin picked his own shotgun back up and nodded. "Thanks," he said.

"No problem," John replied.

This time, Kevin was a bit more cautious in opening the third floor fire door. A zombie hand and arm immediately shot through. John slammed into the door with his shoulder, and there was an undead squeal from the other side. As soon as John let up the pressure on the door, the hand and arm were pulled back through and John quickly shut the door again. He looked at Kevin, then at Rita. "How'da hell'd dey get in dere?" he asked.

"There were only two up here before," Kevin said. "Some of 'em must have figured out how to get in the stairwell earlier than we thought, and probably wandered up here. He looked at the floor, shaking his head. "We've got to get through that door."

"An' afta dat?" John asked.

Kevin suddenly snapped his head back up. "Turn right," he said. "The Conference Room doors are only a few feet away. There's a door on the other end of the Conference Room that opens onto the roof, and we can use it to get back into the hallway, and then come at the Chief's Office from the other side. If they haven't gotten in either room yet, then we can get the jump on the zombies and come at 'em from behind."

"Nice!" Rita said, then frowned. "But we don't know if they're already in either room, Kevin."

"We don't know that they aren't," Kevin replied. "I'd rather take that chance, though, than fight my way through another one of those zombie-filled hallways for any longer than I have to. We don't want you having to use one of those grenades of yours again – and this time, at even closer range than before."

Rita nodded. "Point taken. So we die quick, or we die slow. Given the choice, I'll die slow." She looked at John, who nodded, then looked back at Kevin. "We're still with you, boss."

"All right," Kevin said. "Everybody get ready. We're only going to get one chance ... and if we don't make it, well ... it's been nice knowing you both."

The others nodded, then set themselves for the upcoming battle.

Less than a minute later, the third floor hallway of the old RPD station exploded in a fury of gunfire, flailing bodies, and angry zombie wails. The three humans only had a few feet to cover, and they did it in less than half a minute, but that short segment of space and time seemed like an eternity.

John smashed the butt of his rifle against a bloody hand trying to force its fingers even farther through the narrow opening between the Conference Room doors. The undead owner of that hand let out a fierce scream and pulled the hand back. Immediately Kevin forced the door shut and threw the inside bolts. There was more wailing and moaning, and the door shook from repeated pounding, but it held.

"Well, that's that," Kevin said, and he forced a smile. "Stage one complete, and there's our goal," he added, pointing to a door set in a narrow alcove at the far end of the Conference Room. "Shall we?

They were about halfway across the room when a fast-moving blur of a shadow in the large picture window in the east wall caught Rita's eye. Her eyes opened wide as she cried, "WATCH OUT!!!"

Something smashed through the window and landed on the conference table in the center of the room. Landed, I say, because that is exactly what it did. It landed on two feet attached to muscular bowed legs, springing on them as a bed spring might when resuming its shape after having been bent down for a time. Those legs were attached to a greenish-colored body almost completely covered with scales, with two long arms ending in a set of hands with nasty-looking claws attached to each of its massive shoulders. A stout neckless head with yellow unlidded eyes surveyed the room, then looked down at the three humans around it – who had only just managed to dive out of the way of the thing before it landed. It opened its mouth, showing a maw full of wickedly pointed fanged teeth, and then a peculiar clicking noise came from its throat as it flexed – seemingly ready to spring again.

"Oh, shit!" Kevin muttered.

\------------------------------

Chapter 8 - Retreat

There are some horrors in life that the average person hopes to never have to face. For almost everyone, this starts with the thing that as a child you fear is lurking under the bed or in the closet, waiting to rush out and get you as soon as your parents turn out the light and close your bedroom door. That fear, in one form or another, will stay with the average human for the rest of their lives. Even the most hardened and grizzled war veteran, who has been in the worst and seen the worst, is not immune to this fear – and he or she will privately admit to it if you are courageous enough to ask them. Fortunately for most of us, that fear never gets realized in reality. For an unfortunate few, they have no choice but to face it, and either conquer it or be conquered by it.

Elza Walker was not a combat veteran. She was however, a skilled hunter, and had taken on every kind of wild animal in the America Midwest from bobcats through the larger cats, wild wolves and coyotes, and - on one memorable and almost fatal occasion - an angry black bear. She had gone through just about every experience in dealing with wild animals that the most skilled American hunters could have within the confines of their own borders. It was fortunate that she had done so – for only those experiences, and the knowledge acquired from them, helped her face the unnatural and inhuman monstrosities with which she now found herself fighting for her life. In later years, she would recall it as the single worst fight she ever had during the escape from Raccoon City. There would be other fights, and even more deadly foes, but none of those others encounters would test her training, skills, and experiences to their limit as did her fight with those two hunters, as that hysterical woman from Umbrella had called them before she scrambled away to hide. Little good that would do her if she lost this fight, Elza mused. Those things could and would track her down and kill her no matter what she did. No, best to go down fighting, and maybe do some damage or even take one out before she fell.

Fortunately, the odds shifted in her favor almost immediately. At once the two hunters split up, with the closer one lunging towards Elza in long bounds, using its incredibly powerful legs to shorten the distance in a matter of seconds. Elza had ducked and rolled to avoid being under the thing as it came down on its final bound, then came up firing. She hit the hunter in mid air and it jerked to one side as it fell, screaming and thrashing its arms as it plowed into a nearby car. Out of the corner of her eye, Elza saw the other hunter bound to the pile of wrecked vehicles blocking the Parking Garage ramp, pick up and throw one on top of the pile out of its way, and then claw its way out through the hole it had just created. The thrown vehicle smashed into the parked vehicles at the base of the ramp, making a great crashing sound as it did and sending both metal and glass shards flying. By then, however, Elza was on the move again – for the first hunter had now regained its feet and was bounding again in her direction. She again held her fire until the last possible second, as it made its final bound to reach her, and again ducked, rolled, and came up firing with a controlled burst from her autopistol. The gun clicked empty in mid-burst, but it was enough. Again the creature went out of control, flailing as it plowed into the side of one of the parked SWAT vans. The vehicle rocked and two of its rear tires blew out as the hunter's long claws punctured them, and there was another scream of painful rage as it was smacked by pieces of flying rubber and steel cord. Elza used the opportunity to put as many vehicles between her and the hunter as she could, hurriedly reloading as she did so. She only had to deal with one now, but it was all she could handle. Whatever the other one was up to she didn't know and didn't care. Right now, the one she was having to fight was enough. It was too fast to allow her to escape back to the Service Bay unmolested, and she didn't want it to find Sherry anyway. As for the Umbrella woman, the one who had been so scared she had pissed all over herself? She'd made her choice. Now she was going to have to live with it, whatever the outcome, while Elza fought for both of their lives.

Even with one of the hunters gone, doing whatever it was doing elsewhere, the odds were against Elza and she knew it. The thing was too strong and too damn fast. This wasn't going to be like that time with the black bear, when both her father and brother had come to her rescue even as it had begun to maul her. She was alone, and she was going to have to out-think the hunter, using indirect attacks and only confronting it whenever she had a clear chance for a clean hit. She brushed back the loose hairs from her forehead, running her fingers across the long scar hidden just behind her hairline that the black bear had given her back then, before it had been shot to death, and risked a peek over the wrecked car behind which she was hiding. Nothing. No sound, no motion. That could mean only one thing. The hunter was thinking, too, and that was bad ... very bad. Yes, it was the black bear all over again, but this time there was no one to save her and this bear had the speed of that panther she had once killed. The sweat stood out on Elza's brow as she risked another peek. Nothing. Nothing at all. Damn. This was the worst part – the waiting. Waiting to see who would make the next move: hunter or prey. Who was going to make the first mistake ... and which of them was going to die.

It was either the slight whistling sound of a mass in motion, or the faint movement of the air itself that caused Elza to suddenly lunge out and away from concealment. There was a sickeningly loud CRUNCH! behind her as several hundred pounds of muscled hunter landed on and crushed the top of the car behind which she had been hiding. Elza ducked and rolled even as she lunged, but she wasn't fast enough. She felt a sharp pain go through the back of her right shoulder and upper arm, and she abruptly jerked to the right in her dive. She hung but for a moment, and then came free – but now she was tumbling away from her prey, as the sounds of clattering and clanging of dozens of small objects hitting concrete sounded behind her. Her right shoulder flashed with pain every time it hit the ground during her unchecked roll. She finally managed to stop herself and came up in a crouch. She tried to raise her autopistol, but intense pain shot through her gun hand even as she tried to lift it. She gritted her teeth and cried aloud, forcing the motion through, gripping her right wrist firmly with her left hand in order to both help pull up and brace the apparently injured arm. Her finishing crouch faced her back in the direction from which she had first sprang ... and now Elza could see what had just happened.

The hunter was standing on what had been the top of the car, its taloned feet dug deeply into both its crushed roof and what was left of the passenger compartment below. Its arms were splayed back-and-front, as if it has just attempted a massive swipe at something, which in fact it had done. A piece of Elza's backpack was still skewered on one of the outstretched limb's oversized claws. There was blood running down its tip as well – Elza's blood. She risked a quick glance back at her right shoulder. The right shoulder pad of her armor vest was missing, with only half-torn and half-sheared straps marking its absence. The large anchoring strap that normally held both the chest and back halves of the vest together over her right shoulder had almost been cut in half, and she could just make out blood along those torn edges. She couldn't see the gash directly, but she could sure as hell feel it – and she could also feel the blood running down inside her firesuit sleeve to pool at her bent elbow. In front of her, scattered between her and the thing on the crushed car, were the contents of her ruined backpack. It had been ripped open as the thing had slashed down at her. There were lone bullets rolling off in all directions, a small can of first aid antiseptic spray coming to rest beside the blown tire of the crushed car, two of the flash-bang grenades Rita had given her rolling off in different directions somewhere to her right, scattered snack food packets lying where they had fallen, and so on. Elza didn't wait to see what would happen next. Still gritting her teeth and groaning against the pain in her injured gun arm, she opened fire. The hunter leapt away almost immediately, but it wasn't fast enough. It twisted in the air from the impact of one – no, two bullets that somehow found their mark, came down screaming almost twenty feet away, then bounded up and away again behind one of the big SWAT vans at the far end of the garage, leaving a trail of blood drops behind in its passing. Elza staggered to another nearby vehicle that afforded both better cover and a better view of the hunter's last known location, and then crouched again.

The entire exchange had taken less than three seconds, yet those three seconds had almost cost Elza her life. No, not her life, Elza realized, as she dropped the now-empty autopistol and pulled her SiG Sauer from its holster. The intense pain from the mere motion of drawing the gun with her injured arm almost caused her to cry again, and she quickly transferred it to her left hand. That was what the hunter had been trying to do – not kill her, but to literally disarm her. If it had been trying to kill her, it would have slashed up and not down, and that would have been that. Instead, it had noted with which hand she had been firing her autopistol, and then came up with an attack designed to permanently remove the threat – along with her entire right arm. The thing had damn near succeeded, too. Elza could already feel that arm starting to stiffen, and the fingertips of her right hand were starting to go numb. In just a few minutes, she wouldn't be able to use her gun hand at all. It wouldn't be much longer after that when the loss of blood would start getting to her. Right now the adrenaline high of the moment was countering that last problem, but for how long? Would it be long enough for her to kill the hunter, before it killed her? And why hadn't it killed her when it had the chance? Was it trying to draw out the fight? And if so, why?

 

Suddenly Elza heard running footsteps. "Oh, NO!" she grimaced, and risked another look. As she guessed, it was the Umbrella woman. She had apparently panicked, and had come out of hiding in order to make a dash for the Service Bay door. She would never make it – Elza knew that, and both the pain and growing stiffness in her right arm were ample proof of it. She began to call out a warning, knowing it was useless, knowing that the call would expose her as well to the attack of that hunter – but as she started to do so, her eyes happened to alight on something that was lying on the pavement of the Parking Garage, in a direct line between her and the running Linda. It was one of the flash-bang grenades that Rita had given her earlier, spilled from her slashed backpack, rolling away and coming to rest there ... right there ... in that exact spot.

There was no hesitation in Elza's next moves. She dived for the flash-bang even as she heard the whistling in the air that told her the hunter had sprung, and was bounding in for the attack. She slid within reach just as the top of another vehicle crumpled. A frantic Linda turned, not less than ten feet from the door she sought, and then stopped in her tracks. Her eyes went wide with terror, her mouth working frantically but making no sound. Elza grimaced and hissed in pain through her clenched teeth as she let go of her pistol, then grabbed the grenade and pulled its pin with her half-numbed right hand, which was also now slick with blood that was coming out from under the edge of her firesuit sleeve. The hunter bounded again, arms splayed wide for the one-two killing slash that was going to put a quick end to the easier and less bothersome of its two potential targets. A scream of pure terror began to come out of Linda's wide open mouth, even as with one motion Elza pulled her left arm back, then hurled the flash-bang at both predator and prey. She pulled her left arm down over her eyes in the same motion that she finished the throw ... and then a clap of thunder shook the Parking Garage, as all the world around Elza Walker disappeared within a blinding white light.

* * * * *

The thing on the Conference Room table whirled quickly about, almost spinning in place, trying to keep as many of the humans in its direct line of sight as it could. There were distinct disadvantages in not having much of a neck. Mentally, it checked each one of them against the profiles in its programmed orders. None of then quite fit the designated target, but the big man was the closest. The target might have even donned a disguise in an effort to escape, and that possibility was accounted for in its orders. The big man it was, then – and if the others got in its way, then so much the better.

As for the humans, they were in a bind. The surprise arrival of whatever it was, this green scaly brute of a monster that had smashed through a third floor window with such surprising speed and strength had scattered them. Once they had regained their feet, they found themselves widely spaced around the table and the thing on it. There was still the possibility of trying to flee for the two closest to either of the doors, but the room's new arrival would probably be on top of them before they got halfway, given the speed it had demonstrated so far. There were also all of those zombies out in the hallway to consider, too. There was no easy escape from the thing that way. The only other route of escape open was to somehow evade the thing while fleeing through the broken window, but all that would be gained there was the second floor roof above the Archive Hallway. Over both its south and west sides was a three-story drop straight to the ground - most likely a fatal one, given the distance involved and the zombies below - and high out of reach above its west side was the edge of the helipad. In fact, the only way off of that part of the roof was off its back or north edge ... but that would only put them back where Rita had been before, at the now-open high wall vent for the Archive Hallway. Not that it mattered – that thing would be on whoever tried to flee that way long before they made the vent and could get back inside, and that was that.

All three of the humans noticed once the creature stopped moving. It had suddenly become fixated on John. It opened its maw wide, as if grinning, and that peculiar clicking noise came from its throat once again. John gulped, but held his new-found rifle at the ready. Kevin and Rita looked at each other, and nodded. No words were spoken, but each knew what he or she had to do. As soon as the nod was done, they turned and opened fire.

The creature's next movements were a blur. It lunged forward straight at John, barely dodging the two shotgun blasts that had been fired at where it once had stood on the conference table, and two large holes opened in the wall and windows on either side of that spot. John had just enough time to turn his rifle and throw it up quarterstaff-style when the thing was on top of him. Both Kevin and Rita moved in as one almost at once, but each was sent flying with rapid kicks from the thing's powerful legs. Kevin was slammed hard into the nearest wall, his breath knocked out of him, as he dropped his SPAS-12 and fell to the floor. Rita's shotgun went in one direction and she another – straight through the broken window. She squealed as she realized what was happening, arms flailing wildly, trying to grab anything to stop her flight ... and then she was gone. There was a loud and sickening WHUMP! from outside, followed by several somewhat softer ones, and then no more. A beat later, there was a tremendous roar from the zombies milling about down on street level on that side of the building. They continued to rave and cry out for several more seconds, and then the outside noises went back to their old levels.

John noticed none of this, because at that moment he had more than he could handle with a face full of green-scaled fury in front of him. The thing had managed to wrench his rifle out of his grasp even as it sent Kevin and Rita flying; however, that left an opening for John to take action, and he took it. He had been in enough bar fights in his life to known not to ignore such opportunities, no matter how small, and he made the most of it. His own legs locked around the creature's mid-section. He went for the throat with his hands, but it had none – and now the creature realized what was happening and begin to bring down its own hands, claws inward, seeking to impale the man with either set. John shifted, and somehow managed to get one each of its wrists clasped within the iron grip of his own hands. Once that happened, the pair fell thrashing to the floor.

Several times the thing tried to bite or head-butt him, but John managed to avoid both. He was putting every ounce of his own strength, hardened and toughened by a lifetime of hard labor, into that grip – for it was all that stood between him and certain death. The creature knew it, too – because somehow it managed to struggle to its feet, and then ran at the farthest wall with all the speed it could in that short distance. John was slammed into the wall back first, and he cried aloud in pain, but he did not let go. That wasn't the first time somebody had tried to do that to him in a bar fight. The creature shrilled in what might have been some kind of animal curse, backed up, and slammed John into the wall again – this time head first. John's head swam and his vision was full of stars, but still he did not let go. His grip had weakened, however, and he was half-dazed. The creature made that peculiar clicking sound in its throat once again, and gave John what could have been described as a fang-filled malicious grin, as it backed up again for a third run at the wall. It never made it. The Conference Room was suddenly full of the roar of Kevin's Kimber fired at close range. A fist-sized hole opened up on one side of the thing's head as the bullet sailed through, dragging a mass of bloody ejecta behind it. The creature's grip on John loosened even as the Kimber roared again, and a second fist-sized hole immediately appeared. Blood and brain matter splattered on John as the creature let go, slumped, and then fell to the floor.

* * * * *

"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh!! Owwwwwwwww ...."

Elza winced as the antiseptic spray hit the wound on her right shoulder and back. Linda stopped spraying, and then gave her a sympathetic look. "Sorry. It's not deep, but it's big and rather nasty-looking. I'll bet this wound feels worse than it actually is."

"It's all right," Elza said. "Do what you've gotta do." She gave a grim smile. "It hurt more when you pulled out those torn pieces of my firesuit that had gotten stuck in there." She looked over at Sherry, who was rummaging through all the drawers of the tool chest. "Found any yet?"

"Not yet, Miss Elza," Sherry said.

"Keep looking," Elza said. "I'm sure there's probably a set in here somewhere. At my job at the Stagla station downtown, we always kept a spare set of coveralls handy."

"Yes, Miss Elza," Sherry said. Her face was beaming with the simple pleasure of being able to help her new friend in her own small way.

"Lift your arm, please," Linda said from behind her. "I've got your wound cleaned, and now I'm going to bandage it."

Elza did as she was told. She was seated on a shop stool, facing the wall between the two vehicle lifts of the Service Bay. Sherry had moved away to the other side of the far lift, and was now rummaging through the tool chest and storage shelves back by the big crate, where she had hidden from Elza earlier. Linda was directly behind Elza treating her wound, using some of the medical supplies that were sitting on a mid-sized shop table on rollers parked beside Elza's stool. On the table were all of the supplies that the three of them had managed to gather up from the remains of Elza's ruined backpack – that is, after Elza had hurriedly released Sherry from her impromptu prison and before the zombies outside had found the new hole in the wrecked vehicles blocking the Parking Garage ramp. Once that happened, and they started climbing inside, their sheer numbers had caused all three of them to abandon their impromptu scavenger hunt and flee back to the safety of the Service Bay. Fortunately, its stout side door foiled any attempt by the zombies to get through, and the Service Bay's oversized cantilever door for vehicles was apparently made of sterner stuff than had been the front Lobby security shutter. As for what was left of Elza's supplies, most of the medical stuff had escaped serious damage, but well over half of her small supply of food was ruined. She had lost some of her tools, too, but those could be easily made up for from the ample supply in the Service Bay. Among the things she had lost was her roll of duct tape, rolled off across the Parking Garage pavement to only God knew where. Elza had told Sherry to look for a replacement roll of tape while she was searching for the coveralls. Elza had also lost a third of the ammo she had still been carrying in her backpack, scattered as lone bullets all over the place – but fortunately she still had her preloaded clips, which had been stowed inside her armor vest pouches. There just hadn't been enough time to attempt to recover anything else – and now with the Parking Garage full of zombies, they would never get another chance.

As for the hunter, the one that had stayed behind to toy with Elza, it was dead. Elza had recovered from the effects of the flash-bang grenade to find Linda in a crumpled heap by the Parking Garage door and the hunter staggering wildly, clutching at its ear holes and wailing like a banshee. Elza hadn't wasted any time. She had emptied her SiG into it, then pulled another clip and resumed firing even as it ate pavement. She didn't stop until had emptied the second clip into its head. After that, she had sank to her knees beside the thing, too sore from her wound and too tired to do any more. She had stayed like that until Linda had begun to stir, and then ....

"Miss Elza!" Sherry exclaimed. She came running back to Elza and Linda with a cloth bundle in her hand. "I found one, I think. It was on one of the storage shelves back there."

Sherry unfurled her find in front of Elza and Linda. It was a man's faded blue short-sleeve unmarked shop coverall. Elza looked back at Linda, nodding towards Sherry's find. "A change of clothes, Ms. Merton – if you want them. I don't think we're going to be stopping by any laundromats any time soon."

Linda looked at the blue coverall Sherry was holding. She frowned at first, then sighed and shrugged. "I guess it'll have to do," she said. "I can't go around smelling like a gas station restroom forever." She then looked at Sherry. "I'll try it on as soon as I'm done with Miss Walker. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Sherry said pleasantly.

Elza smiled at the recent memory of the three of them rushing through the Parking Garage door and back into the Service Bay, their pockets stuffed full of whatever they could find from Elza's ruined backpack. Sherry had stopped for a moment and sniffed the air. She had then looked at Linda. "You stink," she had said, with all the honest innocence of a child. "Did you pee on yourself?" Linda had been completely embarassed, of course, and Elza felt for the poor woman, but it was Sherry who just as quickly salvaged Linda's self-respect after so thoroughly destroying it with that one short question. She had left Elza, walked over to the other woman, and taken her hand. "It's all right," she said. "Daddy says grown-ups sometimes do that whenever they're really scared, and you must have been, with all of those zombies and monsters about. I stink too, but it's because I had to go through dirty water and hide in nasty places to get away from those things. We both stink together." There had been a pause, and then the ridiculous but stark honesty of that last simple statement of Sherry's had caused both of the older women to begin laughing. It was after they had settled down that Elza had found a place in the Service Bay where Linda could tend her shoulder wound, while she set Sherry in search of some new clothes for Linda.

Linda was still wrapping Elza's bandages. Sherry bunched up the coverall and put it on one corner of the table. She then stood with her hands clasped behind her back as she rocked back and forth on her heels, watching Linda tend Elza. Nothing was said for a while, until Linda spoke. "Who is she?"

"Sherry Birkin," Elza said. With her back to the other woman, she did not see Linda's startled reaction. She quickly recovered, though, as Elza continued. "Kevin first spotted her wandering around the station earlier, but she got scared and ran off. I only found her because she came in here and that broken door shut behind her, which effectively locked her in here." Elza smiled. "She's something else."

"That she is," Linda said thoughtfully. "Do you know how she got here?"

"She said her mother arranged for her to be sent here when the zombies overran her school, but they jumped the car she was riding in and killed her escort," Elza said. "She's been on the run ever since. Somehow she managed to get here all by herself. Funny thing about that, though."

"What?"

"She said her mother called down here so they'd be expecting her, but when she finally got here, Chief Clemons said her mother never called. It was right after she arrived that the zombies stormed the station, so she ran off and hid." Elza paused for a minute, contemplating what she had just said. "Her mother sounds like she's very protective. It doesn't seem right that she didn't call."

Linda said nothing in reply. To herself, however, she thought, "That she is, Miss Walker. Annette Birkin is a very protective woman indeed." She decided to change the subject. "Those herbs should be kicking in any time now."

"Well, they haven't yet," Elza said. "My arm feels like hell, the throbbing in my shoulder won't quit, and my right hand has gone half-numb."

"They will," Linda said, "trust me. How did you find out about them, anyway? I was surprised to see them in your gear."

"Oh, didn't you know?" Elza quipped. "I'm one of Umbrella's Gifted and Talented scholarship students at the university." She almost spat the words out, then made a wry smile. "Actually, I found out about them from the local coroner. He had a stash of them upstairs in a cabinet in his Medical Room, already ground up into powder and ready to go. Apparently STARS brought samples of the herbs back with them after all that mess up at the Spencer Mansion went down. He had full reports and everything, including their uses and all the proper ways to mix them." Her voice took on a bit of an edge. "Rita had to kill him, you know."

"She did?"

"Yeah. He had turned zombie not long before we got there, but something inside him was still ... I don't know. Rita said he just stood there, not saying anything but practically begging with his eyes for her to kill him. So sad."

"Yeah. You can lower your arm now. Almost done."

Elza did as she was told. She then turned and looked straight at Linda. "What else do you know about what's really going on, Miss Merton?" she asked.

The question caught Linda off-guard. She stopped adjusting the last of the bandages to return Elza' stare. The icy look in Elza's eyes was unnerving, to say the least. "I-I don't know what you mean," Linda finally managed to stammer.

"Oh, I think you do," Elza said evenly. "I think you know more about what's going on right now in Raccoon City than any of us – and believe you me, once we're back together with Kevin and Rita and John, and don't have zombies at our heels, then we're going to have one hell of a conversation. Oh, and one more thing. The next time you pull a stunt and run off like you did in the Parking Garage, I'm not going to rescue you again. I'm going to leave you to the hunters, or the zombies, or the infected dogs, or crows, or whatever the hell other kind of shit you've gotten yourself into. Got it?"

She stopped talking and just stared, her cold eyes burning with a frosty fire into and through Linda. It was she who turned away first, gulping as she did so. "Look – I'm just a low-level hump at Umbrella, and I've got my own issues with them." Now her voice took on an edge, and she became excited. "You don't think they put me in that truck just for decoration, do you? Somebody wanted me dead, and I have a pretty damn good idea who!" Linda was almost yelling by now, stopping only when she saw Sherry staring at her. She calmed down at once and lowered her voice. "But not here," she added, more calmly this time, "and not in front of her." Linda smiled weakly. "Some things are better not said in front of children."

"I'm no child," Sherry pouted.

"No, you're not." Elza said. "I know that, even if Linda here doesn't." She nodded slowly. "All right, Linda. We'll resume our little talk later, once there are more grown-up ears to hear – but we will have that talk. Understand?"

Linda nodded. "Understood."

Elza didn't understand that last bit that Linda had spoken about. Her own issues with Umbrella? What the heck did that have to do with the Outbreak and their present plight? Musing on Linda's words, however, evoked an old Lewis Carroll quote that was one of her favorites. "Curiouser and curiouser," she said to herself. "This damn onion's got more layers than I ever dreamed."

"Ummmm ... Miss Elza?"

Elza turned to look at Sherry. "What is it?"

"I'm hungry."

The little girl was eyeing the packages of food that Elza and Linda had salvaged from the ruin of her backpack, her desire all too evident on her face.

"I'm so sorry," Elza said, mentally kicking herself. "I should have thought of this earlier." She held up a hand to hold off Linda, even as the other woman made a move toward the table. "Sherry, how long has it been since you've eaten?"

"Well," Sherry said slowly, "I found a little food yesterday, but none before that. The only other thing I've had is water to drink. Plenty of that, though."

"Well, you go ahead and eat all of that you can. It isn't much, and it isn't good food, but it's better than no food at all."

Sherry's eyes opened wide, and she beamed. "Oh, thank you, Miss Elza!" she exclaimed. The next few seconds were a frenzy of ripping plastic, as Sherry literally tore into Elza's gift of her food.

Linda smiled as she watched Sherry wolf down the food. "A crushed honey bun, two Twinkies, and a pair of Ding-Dongs," she said, shaking her head. "It's not very nutritious, you know."

"No," Elza agreed. "It's survival. In situations like this, the health food nuts are just as screwed as everyone else." She too smiled. "I'm glad I got that food when I did. Came in handy after all."

"Guess it did," Linda said. She now reached over to the other side of the table, away from where Sherry was gorging herself, and picked up Elza's black t-shirt. It had a large section missing out of the right shoulder and sleeve, partly ripped and partly cut out, but was otherwise still quite wearable. "Are you ready to get dressed now?" she asked.

"Yeah," Elza said. She lifted up both arms - the right one somewhat slowly, and with obvious effort - and Linda helped her get her t-shirt back on. "Good thing that hunter of yours didn't snag my sports bra, too," Elza remarked wryly, "or I'd be having to do topside what you're now having to do bottomside."

"Don't remind me," Linda muttered. She had the t-shirt on Elza now, and was reaching for her firesuit top even as Elza tweaked her t-shirt back into place. She stopped, then turned and faced Elza squarely. "Look," she said, "whatever else you might think of me, I didn't mean to do that. It's just that, well ... well ... now I know what they mean whenever they talk about somebody getting the piss scared out of them. You know what I'm saying?"

"Actually, I do," Elza said. She regarded Linda for a moment, and then continued. "I've never wet myself in the face of danger like you did, but there's been times I've come damn close. A couple of years ago, I was surprised and mauled by an angry black bear while I was out hunting. I thought I was going to die, and I would have, too, had not my dad and brother arrived in the nick of time and shot the thing dead. The thing damn near scalped me, and I almost shit my pants as it did." Elza laughed – a sad laugh, one of memory and not pleasure. "I spent a long time in the hospital while they figured out how to sew the top of my head back on. I've still got a nasty scar to remind me, right here--" and she tapped the top of her forehead, "--right behind the hairline. So don't feel bad about what happened out there. Nobody should have to go through that. And as for the smell? I've smelled worse. There was one time I was out hunting, when I had to lay in soggy bottom gray swamp mud for half a day, like a pig in its own slop, in order to catch and bag what I was after." Elza gave a pleasant chuckle. "I didn't think I was ever going to get that damn stink washed out of my hair." She sighed, then gave Linda a broad grin. "So think nothing of it, Linda. I don't."

"Thanks," Linda said. She walked back over to the table, picked up Elza's firesuit jacket, and then turned and handed it to her.

Elza looked the jacket over. It was much the worse for wear now for what it had just been through. Both the red-and-white jacket and the red racing slacks she wore were a matched set, and she had never forgotten how much they had cost her at the time. It was no normal firesuit she wore, but a custom one of Italian make, just like her motorcycle, hand-picked from a rather expensive import motocross racer's catalog. To the average eye, once it was set and everything fitted into place, it looked like a normal one-piece firesuit. That was only appearances, however. In truth it was a two-piece affair, with both an upper padded jacket and lower padded racing slacks that could attach together at the waist by a hidden zipper and series of velcro strips. The long lower trim of the jacket help hide both the waist fastenings and the fact it was really a two-piece affair. Like her Ducati, however, which now lay wrecked up in the RPD Lobby, her firesuit jacket was not going to survive the Outbreak – not in one piece, anyway. The damage that the hunter had done to it had been bad to begin with, but the further cutting Linda had been forced to do in order to unstick it from Elza's wound was even worse. Elza hadn't realized until now just how badly damaged her jacket was. She looked at the large hole that been half-torn and half-cut into the shoulder, so that most of the right shoulder was now gone and the sleeve itself only stayed attached by a few inches of bloody leather and lining at the underarm. She eyed the damaged right sleeve, soaked both inside and out with her own blood, and shook her head. It wasn't worth the trouble to try to patch and wear. With that, she picked up her jacket in one hand, took her knife in the other, inserted the blade between jacket and sleeve, and yanked up hard.

As Elza tossed the now severed bloody sleeve aside and began putting her jacket back on, Linda picked up the coverall and walked away and around behind a big rolling tool chest, where she might have a little privacy as she changed. That Elza Walker – she was something else! Linda didn't quite know what to make of her. Sometimes she liked her, and sometimes she was scared to death of her. She wasn't quite a biker chick, as her clothing clearly said she was, and yet she was neither a cultured city girl nor a hick from the sticks. And there was the mention of Umbrella's Gifted and Talented Program at the university, of which Elza claimed to be a member. Could it be ... was she the mysterious blonde who had been added at the last minute on the personal recommendation of old man Spencer himself? No, couldn't be! Not a girl like Elza! The Umbrella staffers at the downtown office who had shared that bit of internal company gossip had said that the girl in question was "some blonde bimbo" who had somehow found a way to get the old man's attention – by "stoking his fires," as one of them had joked rather nastily. And yet ... and yet ... and yet Linda couldn't help but feel that there was more here than met the eye. It was probably the angry way Elza had spoken about the Gifted and Talented program, as if she somehow resented it. Fine, then. If she was going to have to spill her guts about her own personal problems with Umbrella at some point, Linda thought, once Elza's friends were finally able to reach them, then little Miss Walker was going to have to do some talking, too. And then there was Sherry ... little Sherry Birkin. Damn, but talk about coincidences! One thing was certain, Linda decided. Whoever was up On High certainly had it in for her today.

* * * * *

"Rita!"

Kevin looked out of the broken window, his face aghast. He had not seen what he had feared he would see, and what the earlier sounds from the ravenous zombies below had seemed to indicate – no Rita to be found save what the zombies below had not torn apart. Instead, he saw Rita's body lying at the extreme edge of the second floor roof. Nevertheless, the sight that now greeted his eyes was frightening enough. Rita's body was perched on the very edge of the roof, with her head and right arm hanging over the side, and she was not moving. She had apparently been knocked out in her tumble across that narrow section of roof, after the hunter had kicked her out the window, and her tumble had only stopped when there was no margin of safety to spare. Rita's shotgun lay a few feet away from her, well out of reach even if she had been conscious, and there was a crow perched on its barrel looking back at him. Another was perched on one of the pouches on the back of Rita's gunbelt, and it too was giving the new human intruder a none-too-welcome stare. Rita's body showed no peck marks, thankfully, but Kevin knew that wouldn't last long. Both crows now flapped their wings and cawed menacingly at Kevin, but neither moved from where they perched.

John had stopped short right behind Kevin. He too looked worried. "Whadda we do now, boss?" he asked.

As if in reply, Kevin threw up both arms and waved them. "Go away!" he yelled at the crows. "Shoo!! Scram!!! Beat it!!!" They again flapped their wings and cawed back at him, but neither one moved.

"Dat didn't work," John observed.

"Yeah," Kevin said. He started to unsling his SPAS-12 but stopped almost at once. Instead, he pulled his Glock and and pointed it in the general direction of the crows. Both must have realized what he was about to do, because both immediately took to the air, cawing madly. They both flew up and over the roof above the edge of the helipad, and soon enough the sound of their flapping wings faded away.

Kevin waited until he couldn't hear them anymore, then dashed across the roof. "Cover me!" he yelled back at John. The burly man followed, his SiG pistol looking small in his big hand as he looked back above them, watching to see if the crows returned. Kevin grabbed Rita by the back of the gunbelt and pulled her back onto the roof. There was a nasty bump on the right side of her head, but otherwise she looked fine. She stirred in his arms even as he rolled her over, and her eyelids slowly fluttered open. "Ke--Kevin ..." she stammered.

"Easy," Kevin said gently, helping her to her feet. "You almost took a tumble."

Rita gulped. "I did? Oh, dear." She looked thoughtful. "I wonder if zombies like Southern fried chicken."

"You're no chicken," Kevin said, grinning at her. He knew she was joking, and that was a good sign. He kept his arm around her as he helped her over to her shotgun. He let go only when she bent down to pick it up, but he remained hovering nearby – just in case, he told himself.

Rita flashed her own smile as she hefted her shotgun again. "You're keepin' an eye on me – aren't you, young man?"

"You almost got knocked off the roof and down into a pile of zombies by that thing just now," Kevin pointed out – but it sounded more like an excuse than a statement.

"If you say so," Rita shot back. The way she said it, though, made it clear she saw right through him. "I take it you two managed to deal with Big and Ugly?"

"Yeah," Kevin said, walking over to the edge of the roof. "John held him, and I holed him."

"It's a wonder that thing didn't rip your arms off, John," Rita said, walking up to the big man. "Thanks, big guy."

"It almos' did, 'for da boss blew its brains out," John said. He relaxed his stance and grinned at her. "I dunno why it came afta me lak dat."

"It probably thought you were Chief Clemons," Kevin said. He was looking off the roof in both directions, north and south, along the east side of the building and at the crowds of zombies milling about below. They groaned and moaned at him, and some waved their arms or clawed the air in his direction, but that was all they could do. He was too high for them to reach. "Selective programming. They used to do that kind of thing in the military, with dogs and dolphins. I can just see Umbrella doing that sort of thing with a creature like that."

"But why would they want--" Rita started, then stopped. "Oh ... yeah. Now I get it."

"Ya mean lak puttin' a houn' on scent?" John said.

"Something like that," Kevin said. He was still scanning the east side of the RPD building. After a moment, he swore. "Damn. I was afraid of that."

"What's wrong?" Rita asked, as both she and John looked back at him.

"Come over and see for yourself," Kevin said, looking almost directly down the side of the building beneath him.

Both Rita and John quickly joined Kevin at the edge of the roof, and looked down in the same direction as did he. Directly below them at ground level was an exterior window for one of the first floor public bathrooms. It was on the east side of the old RPD's East Hallway and shared a common wall with the building's exterior. As they continued to watch, a zombie half-crawled and half-fell through that window. It was quickly seized by the other zombies clustered on that side of the building, and then their undead din quickly rose to a crescendo. Rita turned away with a gasp. John looked puzzied. "Is dat what we's s'pposed ta see, boss?"

"Not the zombie, if that's what you mean," Kevin responded, "but from where it came."

Rita turned back to look at Kevin. "The first floor bathrooms!" she exclaimed. The realization spread over her face like a tidal wave. "The zombies are in the East Hallway!"

"Yeah," Kevin said grimly. "We're cut off. There's no safe way to get back down to the Parking Garage from here. Any route we could take is blocked by more zombies than we have ammo to deal with. It doesn't matter which way we try – back the way we came, or follow the roof back down to where we came in. We can't get down. We're trapped."

* * * * *

The three of them were now back in the Conference Room, not far from the broken-out east window. Kevin had become a perfect picture of frustration. He balled his hand into a fist, and then pounded it against the nearest wall. He stared out the broken window. He could now clearly hear the wails of the zombies below. "Dammit!" he exclaimed. "And I led us into this trap."

Rita walked up beside him, and put a supportive hand on his shoulder. "No you didn't. We have a job to do. We had to get those case files – which we still have to get, by the way. And it was our choice, Kevin. You're our leader."

"Yeah," John added, with a wry smirk. "You're why we're here."

"Knock it off, John," Rita said, glowering at him. "Now's not the time.:

John nodded. "Yes'm. Hey, ya think any more of dem green things mite be aroun'?"

Rita frowned. "Could be. You know, judging from the way that thing was comin' up over the roof when I saw it...." She suddenly clutched at Kevin's arm. "Kevin! It must have come up from the Parking Garage!"

Kevin whipped out his radio and keyed the mike. "Elza, this is Kevin. Do you read, over?" No response.

The Conference Room grew quiet as the three of them contemplated what might have happened down there, while they had been fighting for their lives up here. Given what they had just gone through with the one monster .... The three of them looked at each other. "Elza ...." Rita said softly.

Kevin keyed the mike again. "Elza, this is Kevin. Respond, please. Over." There was more silence ... and then the tone indicating an incoming response. "Elza here, over."

"Oh, thank God," Rita half-whispered. In a moment she had her own radio up and the mike keyed. "This is Rita – are you all right, hon?! We got attacked by some big green monster just a few minutes ago and it almost got us!"

"So that's where the other one went," Elza replied. "I figured as much, once I had time to think about it. His buddy stayed down her to play with me for a while. Damn near got me, too. If it hadn't been for that armor vest you left behind, Rita, and those flash-bangs, I'd either be missing an arm or dead right now."

"Did you get it?" Kevin asked.

"Yeah ... I got it. I took a hit in the process, though. Seems to be all right, but I used up a lot of my first aid supplies treating it, and I took some of those herbs just in case that thing was infected. I suggest you guys do the same, too."

The three looked at each other. None of them had thought of that. At once Rita put down her radio and began rummaging through her backpack. Kevin nodded to the others, and then continued talking on his radio. "Will do. How's the little girl?"

"Half-starved and feeding her face right now with what food I still have, but otherwise fine. That reminds me, Kevin. That thing got my backpack during the attack. I've lost over half of everything I hadn't already transferred to my armor vest pouches. Linda and Sherry helped me pick up what we could until the zombies started swarming the Parking Garage – but once that happened, we had to come back in here. There were just too many of them."

Kevin looked at his companions. John simply had a puzzled look on his face, while Rita had stopped in the act of mixing red, green, and blue herbal powders. She looked at Kevin and mouthed the words, "Who's Linda?" Kevin keyed his mike. "Who's Linda, Elza?"

"My new best friend. She works for Umbrella. I found her in a wrecked Umbrella delivery truck in the Parking Garage – the same one from which those two things came. Hunters, she called them. Swore up and down she didn't know they were in there, and that the only reason she was in the truck is because she was ordered along for the ride, so she could get the chief to sign for what was in the truck. Claims somebody at Umbrella wants to kill her, and that's why she was made to come here in the truck with those hunter things – so they'd kill her, too."

"Uh-huh," Kevin replied, in an unconvinced tone. "Riiiiight."

"Actually, I believe part of her story," Elza said. She lowered her voice, and Kevin had to listen close to his radio to hear her. He saw both John and Rita lift their radios up to their ears, too. "She was scared shitless when those things popped out of the back, Kevin. Also, when I first found her, she was pinned in that wrecked truck with the last two K-9s from the Kennels trying to get at her. She was so terrified that, well ... she had an accident."

Behind Kevin, John tried and failed to stifle a laugh. "John!" Rita hissed through clenched teeth, shooting him a dirty look. Kevin couldn't help but smile himself, but otherwise kept a professional tone in his voice. "Well, if she's lying, that's certainly the most unusual way I've ever heard to cover for it."

"I don't think she's lying, Kevin, but I'm certain she's not telling the whole truth, either. We'll have to talk about it once the rest of you get down here, and then we can compare notes."

Kevin sighed. "I'm afraid that's not going to happen, Elza. The zombies have filled all of the floors and hallways between us and you. We're cut off."

"Oh, swell." Elza said. "I've got even more good news to add to the mix. The Parking Garage turned out to be a big bust. There's a bunch of wrecked cars piled up on the ramp blocking both the way in and out, and more wrecked vehicles down here – including that Umbrella truck. It's a real mess, in fact, and that's not including all of the zombies partying in here right now. I don't think we were ever going to be able to get a vehicle out of there, even if I had bothered to look for a good one – which I didn't. After seeing the way the ramps were, I figured it was a waste of time." She paused, and then added. "Good for you that you guys wrecked outside the Garage. If you had tried to come down here, I don't think any of you would have made it."

"Yeah," Rita said. Kevin noticed how she bit her lip when she said that, but otherwise remained calm. He knew about whom she was thinking, and decided it was time for him to step in. "Well, does anybody have any suggestions on where to go from here?"

All was quiet for a few seconds, and then Rita spoke. "What about using the rest of my flash-bang grenades to clear a path back down to her?"

Kevin shook his head. "We're going to need two of those to get those case files – one in and one out, if the plan I've got works. That leaves you only three, and I figure we'd need at least six to get back down to the basement." He held up one hand, all four fingers and the thumb splayed, and began counting off, folding down each in turn. "Stairwell, first floor west hallway, lobby, first floor east hallway, basement stairwell, and finally ..." and with that he clenched his fist, "... the basement proper. Not enough."

"Hold on," Rita countered. "Why not go out the hole in the Conference Room window, across the back roof, drop down where we first came in by our van, then fight our way back in that way?"

Kevin thought about it for a moment. "Nope," he finally said. "Still won't work." He counted off with his fingers again. "Back roof drop, east hallway, basement stairwell, and basement." He lowered all but his forefinger. "One over. Close, but no cigar."

"Oh," Rita said. "Well, so much for that idea."

"I gots an ideer," John said.

"Oh, really?" Kevin said. He looked at the burly laborer sideways. "This I've got to hear."

Apparently oblivious to Kevin's obvious sarcasm, John barged ahead. "Well, if we cain't get to da girls and they cain't get to us, then it's purdy cleer. We each gets out sepert'ly and hooks up later."

"Makes sense," Rita said quickly, before Kevin could comment. She gave him a stare, and he swallowed the retort he was about to make.

"I've been thinking about all dis," John went on, completely oblivious to what was going on between Kevin and Rita, "and it seems to me that da best way outta here is to take to da Sewers. Y'know – follow the Sewers to the city storm drains, and from dere get the hell outta Dodge?"

"Now wait a minute," Kevin said, holding up his hand and motioning for Rita to keep quiet. "You're forgetting something rather obvious. We're trapped up here, the girls are cut off down in the basement, and the manholes to the Sewers are all out in the sidewalks by the streets, where they belong."

"Not all of dem," John insisted. "I sometimes work part-time for the city sewer cistern, whenever I'm desperate enough for money. Because of dat, I know dat there's two manholes that each of us can git to with a little effort. One's down in the Service Bay of the Parking Garage where da girls are - I had to do some work in dat part of the sistern once, dat's how I know - and da other is right outside the building, down in a little cubbyhole at de base of the west side. We can use da old fire escape in front of the building to git to it."

"How do we keep the zombies from jumping us when we go out?" Rita asked. "There's zombies all over the front of the building."

"Ahhhh," John said, "but da Lobby drop is inside da front hedge. Dey cain't git to it widout going 'round, 'cause da bushes are so thick they've ach'ally grown through da fence."

"And what about us?" chimed in a voice over the radio. It was Elza. "I didn't see any manhole in here when I first came in, and I don't see one now."

"Da Chief's prob'bly gots it hidden," John said. "He wouldn't ha' wanted any pris'ners learning 'bout it. Look fer it in da back corner of da Service Bay, if I 'member correctly. Oh, an' one more thing. When you was down there, did you sees a key with da label Water Key on it?"

"Yeah," Elza answered. "It's in the keybox by the watchman's desk at the bottom of the stairwell. I left it there when I found it because I didn't know what it was."

"Ya needs to gets it before ya go," John urged. "Dose are da master keys for da Sewers. Youse kin open any of the locked doors down dere with dose keys."

"Sounds like a plan," Kevin interjected. "Look, Elza, we need to hurry up and get those case files so we can get outta here. You know what to do. Can you ladies do it?"

"I can," Elza replied. "I know Sherry will try. I'm not counting on Linda, though, given the way she acted in the Parking Garage earlier."

"I guess it'll have to do," Kevin said. "We'll call you back once we're done. Kevin, out."

Kevin put up his radio even as Rita handed him a small folded piece of paper. Inside was a herb powder mixture. He saw John holding one too, looking at it as if it would bite him. Rita held up her own. "Sorry, boys," she said, "but there's no water. You'll have to take it raw. Bottom's up."

All three poured the powders into their mouths and swallowed. It was all Kevin could do to keep from gagging, and he saw that John was having the same trouble. "Bleeearrrggghh!" he spluttered. "What da hell is dat shit?"

"Medicine," Rita said calmly. "It keeps you from turning, if you've got the virus." John promptly did a double-take. "It won't cure you, but it'll keep you from getting any sicker if you're infected. It'll also make you heal faster if you're hurt, and also I added the blue anti-poison agent in there. How are your arms?"

John flexed them. "They're startin' to feel better already," he said in amazement.

"Good," Kevin said. "It's time to move out." He waved towards the back door. Rita picked up her shotgun, and John unslung his hunting rifle. Both checked their weapons, and both appeared to be still functional. By the time they finished, Kevin already had his SPAS-12 in hand and ready. "We'll go out the back way," he explained, "and come in by the rooftop door. It's a straight shot to the Chief's Office from there. As soon as I open the door, Rita, I want you to toss in a flash-bang. I'll shut the door, wait for it to go off and do its thing, then dash in and make a beeline for the Chief's Office. You two follow me and take up position at the turn in the hall. Don't let anything past you until I'm back out with those files. Once I'm back out with 'em, you drop another flash-bang if necessary and we get the hell outta there."

"Got the puzzle piece?" Rita asked.

Kevin reached down with one hand and patted one of his pockets. "Right here," he said.

"Den le's do it," John said. "I' se ready if'n you are."

"I'm ready," Rita said. She looked at Kevin, smiled, and nodded. "Okay, then. Let's go."

* * * * *

Elza lowered the radio. She snugged it back into its pouch on her armor vest, for it was sitting nearby on the floor beside the rest of her gear. Linda had helped her remove it earlier in order to better treat her wounded shoulder. Fortunately the gash had been long but not deep, and had done more serious injury to her gear than to her person. The now-missing right shoulder pad of her armor vest had sacrificed itself in order to ward off the worst of the blow. Elza didn't want to think about what would have happened to her had she not been wearing it. She had been lucky ... damn lucky. No telling how long her luck would hold out, and she had no intention of counting on it to save her and her companions.

"I'm changed," came a voice from behind her. Both Elza and Sherry turned to see Linda standing before them. She was now wearing the blue workshop coverall. Her old uniform skirt and other lower clothing items, along with their stains and smells, had been discarded into a pile not far from the wall. Since the coverall had been short-sleeved, Linda was now wearing her old Umbrella uniform jacket on top of it to cover her arms. The coverall was also a bit short in the legs, too, leaving her bare ankles exposed – for Linda had also been forced to dispose of her black uniform hose as well. Her feet were bare, but she held both of her uniform's flats in one hand. "Feels a little funny, having to be dressed like this," she said a bit testily, pacing in place for a step or two.

"You'll get used to it," Elza said. "You'll have to. There's no underwear shops between here and civilization anymore. Now, have either of you seen a manhole in here?"

"I have," Sherry said. "I found it when I first got trapped in here. It's back under that big box with the wheels." With that she pointed to the large crate in the back corner of the Service Bay where Elza had first spotted her. "I would have got out that way if I could, but it was too low for me to get under and too heavy to push out of the way."

Together, Elza and Sherry walked to the back corner of the Service Bay. Linda quickly slipped her flats onto her bare feet and followed. Elza flexed her injured right arm as she walked. Already the feeling had come back into it, save for her fingertips, and it wasn't nearly as stiff and sore as before. The pain in her shoulder had been reduced to a dull throbbing that was more irritation than anything else. Was it the healing action of whatever was in those herbs working on the long gash in her right shoulder and upper arm? She flexed the fingers on her right hand. Back to normal motion again, although there was still a bit of a tingle on the ends near the numb tips. Even those, though, seemed to have more sensation in them than they did a few seconds ago. "Do those herbs really work that fast?" she thought to herself. "It's no wonder that Umbrella's kept their existence a secret. Anything that worked like that, once word got out and given the company's medical nature, would either put them out of business or make them insanely rich." Elza suspected the truth was somewhere in the middle, but didn't have the time to think about it further.

The pair stopped by a oversized crate on a moving dolly. Linda joined them even as Elza was reading the inscription stenciled into its top and sides. "No wonder you couldn't move it, Sherry," she said with a chuckle. "It contains a complete replacement power train for an older model Ford LTD police interceptor. New engine, new transmission, new universal shaft, new gearbox – hell, this thing weighs more than all three of us put together. Good thing it's on a dolly, though. That gives us a chance." She walked around the crate, eyeing it, then stopped on the side opposite the back wall. From there she would have maximum leverage, given the available space and the way the casters on the dolly were aligned. She then leaned into it with her left shoulder, not wanting to damage her right any further now that it was healing, and braced her legs. She started to push, but then stopped, looking at Linda. The other woman hadn't moved, and was simply staring at the crate as she expected it to move all by itself. "Give me a hand, will you?" Elza snapped. "I can't move this damn thing by myself."

Sherry darted from around Linda, and eagerly took a place right beside Elza. She put both hands against the crate and braced her own legs. "I'll help, Miss Elza!" she exclaimed, looking excitedly at her.

Elza smiled. The little girl wasn't going to make much difference, but it was the thought that counted. "Thank you, Sherry," she said with a smile. Then she heard footsteps, and moments later Linda joined them at the side of the crate.

"I'm sorry," the woman said sheepishly, as she too braced herself to push. "I don't know what I was thinking just now. Of course I'll help."

Elza made no comment. Perhaps Linda had been zoning, or had been letting the day's events catch up to her, or something else entirely. Who knew? It didn't matter now, anyway. "All right," she said to the others. "All together now. On the count of three. One, two, three! Heave!!"

Both women and the little girl strained as hard as they could against the heavy crate. It moved few inches on its dolly. Everyone shifted their legs and braced again as quickly as they could, still pushing with hands and shoulders, trying to keep the momentum going of the slowly moving crate. It crept along on its dolly as Elza, Linda, and little Sherry strained with all of their might. Inch by inch, and then foot by foot, a manhole cover was revealed. It had been almost perfectly covered by the crate on the dolly.

"Easy!" Elza gasped, even as she pushed. "Watch your step! Edges only! Sherry, let go and stand back. You'll be right on top of it in a minute. We'll take it from here. Thanks. Now come on, Linda – heave!"

Beads of sweat stood out on the foreheads of both women as they pushed with all of their strength. Sherry's small contribution was missed as soon as she stopped pushing and stepped back away from the manhole, but the other two women kept straining at their tasks. Another few inches ... a full foot ... just a little more ... a little more ....

"Okay!" Elza called. Both women stopped at the same time. The crate stopped moving. It was now almost up against the shelving unit that stood against the back wall. Elza turned and leaned against the crate itself, while Linda slumped against the nearby wall. Both were breathing heavily.

"God," Linda panted. "I hope that's all of that we have to do to get out of here."

"It is," Elza said between breaths. Her breathing was less ragged than Linda's, as she was in the better physical shape. She suddenly closed her eyes and took a single extremely long and deep breath, then let it out again almost as slowly. After that, her breathing was almost normal again. "One more thing left to do. I've got to go back and get that Water Key. John said we'd need it where we're going."

Linda was still breathing heavily, although hers too was now less labored than before. "Oh, yeah," she said. A depressing thought crossed her mind, and she looked at Elza. "Need my help?"

Elza smiled grimly and shook her head. "I think I can manage, thank you. It's a straight shot from here to the stairwell and back again. Simplicity itself, compared to everything else we've been through here."

"But Miss Elza!" Sherry exclaimed. She ran around the now-exposed manhole and clutched her. "That man said that the monsters were on the stairs now!"

Elza tousled Sherry's hair. "Yes, he did – but I've got something better than my guns now to drive them away." She pointed back at the small stack of her gear over by by the Service Bay door. "You see that big metal contraption there? That's a homemade flamethrower, and I have two extra bottles of fuel for it."

Linda laughed softly and shook her head. "Just what are you going to pull out of your ass next, Miss Walker?"

Elza was on the verge of making a cutting reply when she bit her tongue. Linda's remark might have been sarcastic, but deep down it could have been one of admiration. Instead, she merely grinned. "When I think of it," she said instead, "I'll let you know." She picked up her armor vest, then allowed Linda to help her put it back on. Elza's shoulder might be healing faster than normal, but she still wasn't taking any chances.

As soon as she finished with the armor vest, Elza reached down again. When she came back up, she had her empty autopistol and its spare clips in one of her hands. She fished in one of her vest pockets and pulled out a box of nine millimeter bullets. "Here," she said, handing both to Linda. "Something constructive to do while I'm gone."

Linda gingerly took the weapon, its clips, and the box of ammo. "I don't know anything about guns," she said. "I've never owned one, and I've never had to use one."

Elza started to say something, but restrained herself. Instead, she snatched one of the empty clips back from Linda, then held it in front of her face. With the index finger of her other hand, she put its tip on the inner spring of the clip at its very back, then hooked her thumb around as if she were pushing in a bullet. She moved both finger and thumb along the top of the inner spring from back to front, pressing down on the spring proper as she did so, while talking at the same time. "It's very easy," she explained. "The bullets go in here. As soon as you put one in, this spring will go down. You put them in this way every time, and keep going until no more will fit in. When that happens, the clip is full and you move on to the next one. Got it?"

"Uhhh, yeah," Linda said, taking the empty clip back as Elza thrust it at her.

"Don't worry about using that gun unless you have to," Elza added. "If you do, just stick a clip in until you hear a click, and then you can pull the trigger to shoot. If you hold the trigger down, it'll go full auto, so be careful."

"Okay ..." Linda said, but she didn't sound very sure of herself.

Sherry suddenly hugged Elza around her legs. "Don't go, Miss Elza," she pleaded.

Elza put one comforting arm around Sherry and again tousled her hair with the other. "I've got to, hon," she said. "I've got to get those keys before we leave." She looked down at Sherry and smiled. "Now you need to let go so I can get my flamethrower, okay?"

Sherry let go and stepped back beside Linda. Elza hefted the ungainly homebrew flamethrower, balancing it on its shoulder strap on her left shoulder. It had been designed for right-handed use, but again Elza was taking no chances with her still-healing wound. Besides, it would leave her gun hand free for her SiG Sauer, just in case she needed it. She pulled out of her pocket the Zippo lighter she had retrieved from the tool bench in the Boiler Room, made an adjustment on the flamethrower, then lit the lighter and lighted the device's primer flame. A small blue flame now flickered at its tip near where the flame would come out. It burned steadily, as it was being fed directly from the fuel bottle attached to the flamethrower, and only violent motion would put it out. Elza shut the lighter and put it back in her pocket, then raised her hand and saluted the others. "I'll be back before you know it."

"We'll be here," Linda said.

"Don't get hurt again," Sherry said.

Elza nodded. "I won't," she promised. She began to whistle a tune as she went through the door and pulled it shut behind her. Linda and Sherry heard her continuing to whistle as she walked to the basement double doors, carefully opened them, looked through them first, then went on through. The doors shut behind her, and the sound of Elza's whistling could be heard no more.

Sherry looked up at Linda. The older woman was laughing softly. "What is it?" she asked.

"Oh," said Linda, "I recognized the tune she was whistling. That's all."

"What was it?"

"It's an old pop song from the Eighties. It's called, 'Burning Down the House.'"

* * * * *

Kevin's plan to get the Umbrella case files had gone off like clockwork. The first flash-bang grenade had done its job, flattening every zombie on their end on the third floor main hallway and halfway incapacitating the rest. John and Rita had taken up covering positions even as Kevin rushed to the door to the Chief's Office, yanked it open, and then ran inside. The puzzle piece had fit where it was supposed to go, and part of the top of the model had raised up to reveal the prize he sought. Fortunately there had been no safe proper to force open. Chief Clemons' "safe" had turned out to be nothing more than the model itself. It had concealed a small insulated cabinet on a powered lift with two compartments – and the missing city building model itself had been its key. Furthermore, the entire city model was so cunningly built that no seams or joints revealed the presence of the section that lifted up to reveal the hidden compartments of the cabinet. Inside one of the compartments was a large manila accordion folder with about three inches' worth of content stuffed inside, its lid secured by string, and with the single word UMBRELLA written on it by a firm hand using a large black magic marker. Kevin didn't even bother to open and check it. He had simply grabbed it and bolted for the door even as the sound of gunfire erupted out in the hall. Behind him, once he was halfway across the office, the raised section quietly slid back down into place, hiding the city model's secret compartments once again.

Kevin came through the door to find both Rita and John almost at his elbow just past the hallway turn, facing a seething mass of undead heading towards them down the hall. As soon as Kevin had cleared the door Rita had tossed her second flash-bang towards the zombies, and then the three of them had sprinted the short distance to the rooftop door. They got through it and had it closed just in time. They heard a muffled bang and saw light flash around the edges of the door even as Kevin slammed it shut, and then he shot the lock. "That'll hold 'em for a while, once they come around," he said. "Dunno for how long, though. Now let's move."

The trip across the roof, up the last flight of stairs, and then across the helipad went without incident. There were no crows on the helipad this time, and the trio rushed across to the far side without anything to challenge them. Two large stacked crates sat directly in front of the edge section where John had said the fire escape ladder was located, blocking it from easy access. "Mah turn now," John said, as he set his shoulder to the lower crate. With a loud grunt and mighty heave, he shoved both of them at once across the edge. They tipped and then fell – followed a split second later by a series of loud crashes and the agonized screams of dying zombies below, either crushed or injured by the crates and their contents as they smashed to pieces on top of them. One actually hit the ledge of the Lobby roof and bounced out into the street before smashing to pieces, sending the shrapnel of both its wooden sides and its broken contents flying everywhere. The trio peered briefly over the ledge to look at John's handiwork.

"Good job, John!" Kevin said in mock praise. "Now every zombie on this side of town knows we're up here."

"Oh, leave him be," Rita said. "We needed those crates moved anyway to get at the fire escape." She shot Kevin a worried look. "I just hope it holds us up. It probably hasn't been used in years, or not since they put the new one in at the back of the building. What was in those crates, anyway?"

"Spare parts for the 'choppers, looks like" Kevin said. He looked down again at John's handiwork for a moment, then at John himself. "Sorry."

"Nodda probl'm," John said. "Now le's git goin', before dey come to and come afta us."

The three of them hurried down the fire escape ladder, with Kevin going first. The rusty old ladder creaked and groaned under his weight, and he swore he felt it wiggle as he got near the bottom, but it held. He remained there as Rita came down. The lighter woman had no trouble, but he could see the old ladder wobble as John begin clambering down. "Hurry!" Kevin encouraged.

"Doan need ta tell me twice!" John replied. The rest of his descent was a combination half-slide and half taking two or three rungs at a time. His hands and the insides of his pant legs were covered in powdered rust by the time he was down with the others – but the rest of his descent took only a few seconds. The ladder didn't collapse either, although it creaked and groaned the whole time John was on it. John alighted beside them and then grinned. "Thought it was going ta come off wid me on it dere at the end."

"One down, one to go," Kevin said. "Let's go!"

The three of them dashed across the Lobby roof. They could hear the moaning of the zombies not far below. They were apparently recovering from the damage wrought by the falling crates and their contents. Kevin suddenly stopped at the far edge, holding his arms out and making the other two stop beside him.

"What's wrong?" Rita asked, as she moved around to get a better view.

"Ladder's broken," Kevin said. He pointed down to the ground, where part of the broken fire escape ladder lay on top of several bent and scattered garbage cans. "We're gonna have to jump, and that's directly below us."

Rita peered over the edge. "That's gonna make one helluva racket," she said.

"Alley oop!" John exclaimed. Without warning, and much to the surprise of the other two, he casually stepped off the edge of the Lobby roof. He fell straight down but rolled to one side as he hit – straight into a garbage can. There was a dreadful clatter and the lid went flying, but in another second John was back on his feet. He unslung his rifle, chambered a round, then motioned to the others. "Better git down here, 'foah da neighbors arrive."

"One of these days ..." Kevin muttered, then he slung his SPAS-12 on his back and followed John. His landing was a bit more quiet than John's, as he made sure not to hit any of the garbage cans that were still standing. Once he was down on the ground, Kevin stood up and motioned to Rita. "Come on in," he said, "the water's fine." He positioned himself directly below the ledge. "I'll catch you if I can," he said with a smile.

"You better not, you idiot," she said, making a face at him. "That's a good way to break your arms." She held her shotgun close to her chest, and then stepped off the edge. The next thing she knew, she was down – and Kevin's strong arms were wrapped around her. She opened her eyes - she hadn't realized she had closed them - and looked into his. "You can put me down now, Mister Ryman," she said.

"Don't know if I want to," Kevin replied. It was spoken as a joke, of course, and so was his tone, but the look in Kevin's eyes said something different.

"Please," Rita said, a bit flustered. "Anyway, thanks. I mean that." Her words came out a little more husky than she meant, and she couldn't help but continue to gaze at him.

"You're welcome, Mrs. Burnside," Kevin said. Again, he spoke as if he were joking, but his eyes said something completely different.

There was a bit of a pause, and then John coughed – rather loudly and pointedly. "A-hem! 'Scuse me, you two, but doan we have an escape ta complete?"

Both Kevin and Rita let go at the same time, and both backed up a pace likewise. John couldn't help but chuckle as the two looked away from each other, trying to pretend that what had just happened didn't happen at all, yet it obviously had. "Ise gonna hafta keep my eye on dem two," he thought smugly to himself. "Dey gonna be lots o' fun." He then motioned ahead, speaking as he did so. "Da manhole is just around dat turn. I kin go first ... if you two wanna be alone."

"Never mind," Kevin growled. "It's my place to lead. Thanks, though." And with that he strode past John, turned the corner ... and walked straight into the waiting arms of a hideously grinning zombie. The thing had obviously been waiting for one of them to make the turn. It seized Kevin at once, pinning his arms to his side, and threw its head back as it prepared to sink its teeth into his neck. That was its only mistake in its ambush, but it was a fatal one. There was the loud KRAK! of a high-powered rifle, and the thing's head split open mere inches from Kevin's face. Blood, skull splinters, and pieces of brain matter splattered him as the zombie's arms came loose and it fell to the ground. It didn't even twich once it came to rest. Bodies without some kind of brain with which to work were almost impossible for the T-virus to re-animate.

Kevin turned and looked behind him. John was just lowering his still-smoking hunting rifle. Rita had her shotgun up, but she hadn't fired – nor would she have, either. The hunting rifle was actually the more effective weapon in this kind of unexpected situation. Kevin wiped part of the bloody crud off of the side of his face with one gloved hand, then held the other out to John. "Thanks. That's another one I owe you. Didn't know you were that good a shot."

"I ain't." John admitted, "but you an' dat thing wuz so close, I couldn't miss."

"Let's hurry," Rita said. "I can hear the zombies coming. We need to get out of here before more of 'em figure out how to get in here."

The area where the trio now stood was a concrete-lined cul-de-sac shaped like the English letter "L" – with its base running east to west in parallel with the front of the building and its main leg running north to south along the west side of the RPD station. They had dropped down from the roof of the Lobby at the far right or eastern base or leg of the "L," and now stood at its corner. Behind them, between the cul-de-sac and the street, was a high hedge that at one time had been planted in front of a chain-link fence. Over the years, however, it had grown many branches through the fence, and they were so intertwined now, that it was as if the two were one entity. In some places, parts of the links had been entirely overgrown or even enveloped by the branches and trunks of the hedge's shrubbery. It would have been impossible for a human to get through that fence-braced hedge without cutting their way through. It was absolutely impossible for a zombie to go either through or over – but they could go around it, if they went down the block far enough. That they had apparently not yet figured out how to do, save for the one that had almost jumped them – but they would figure it out soon enough. Once that happened, the three of them would be trapped with no hope of escape, thanks to the broken fire escape ladder. That is, unless—

"There it is!" Rita said, pointing to the far end of the upper leg of the "L."

At its very end, where walls closed it in on three sides, there was a dark shape on the ground. The three of them ran to the end and stood around their one and only hope for escape: a rather normal-looking manhole covered by a large and heavy lid. The three looked at each other, and then John reslung his rifle. "Cover me, you guys?" he asked. Both Kevin and Rita nodded, and they took up defensive stances in front of the manhole while John grappled with the heavy lid.

They were not a moment too soon. A flailing zombie, arms windmilling from having apparently attempted to fight its way through the hedge, came tumbling into the cul-de-sac. Both Kevin and Rita fired at the same time, and the thing moved no more. They heard John grunt and the manhole lid move behind them. Another zombie, this time a female in what had been a tee-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops stumbled in with them. It too went down – but this time, two more fell in. The zombies were finding their way around the hedge. The humans were out of time. At that moment there was a loud CLANG! behind them, and John wheezed, "Got it!"

Kevin looked at Rita. "Ladies, first," he said, even as he fired and dropped one of the two new zombies.

"Why, I thank you, sir," Rita said in an exaggerated Southern accent – then she too fired, and dropped the other zombie. She ran to the manhole even as Kevin shifted his position, covering for her. Two more zombies entered the cul-de-sac, and two more promptly joined the ever-growing pile of zombie bodies at the turn in the "L."

"John, you next!" Kevin called over his shoulder. He began backing towards the open manhole, occasionally glancing back to check his progress, but always keeping his eye on the open part of the turn in the cul-de-sac.

"Doan have to tell me twice, boss!" John said. Despite his bulk, he slipped down and into the manhole as if it had been greased.

Kevin had by now backed all the way to the manhole's edge. Three more zombies found their way into the cul-de-sac, and three more died as soon as they arrived. Kevin's SPAS-12 clicked on an empty chamber. Without a moment's hesitation he jumped into the manhole partway, stopping on the topmost rung of the ladder inside. Half-out of the manhole, he turned – and with a groan and a great effort, seized the heavy manhole cover and dragged it to him. He could hear the zombies flailing along the hedgerow, and knew that still more would be arriving in seconds. He took another step down the manhole ladder, then pulled the manhole cover on top of him as he took yet another step down. It fell into place with another CLANG!, sealing the hole completely and drowning the manhole in darkness. Kevin didn't wait. He sped on down the ladder to join his friends in the Sewers. "Let those zombies figure that one out," he chuckled to himself.

* * * * *

Linda and Sherry sat side by side on the floor of the Service Bay next to the outer door, awaiting Elza's return. The two had said nothing ever since Elza had left, and the silence was beginning to get burdensome. Linda had reloaded the autopistol clips exactly as Elza had shown her to do, and it now sat beside her - on the side opposite from Sherry - with a fresh clip locked into place. The other fully loaded spare clip was in one of Linda's jacket pockets, and the remaining bullets inside their box in the other. She sat with her legs partially bent and half-lying back, afraid to bend any more lest she split the bottom out of her new clothes. They weren't made to fit a woman, and she could feel it in more places than one. As for Sherry, she sat quietly with her knees bent and her legs pulled in, both arms around her legs, so that her chin rested on her knees and stayed there. She seemed lost in thought. There were only two things Linda could think about: how in the hell had she had gotten even farther into such a complicated mess, and why in the world was that Elza girl taking so long on what was supposed to be such a short trip?

It was Sherry who first broke the silence. "Miss Elza's been gone a long time."

"Not that long." Linda's reply was non-committal. "She may already be on her way back."

"But the stairs aren't that far away," Sherry insisted. Clear tones of both fear and urgency sounded in her voice. "They're only at the end of the hall – but the people on the radio said the stairwell was full of zombies!"

Linda put a comforting arm around Sherry. "If anybody could deal with them, she could," she replied, trying to keep her voice calm. "Of that you can be sure." A thought struck her, and she decided to act on it. "Sherry, did you know I worked for your dad?"

"My dad?" Sherry's fear subsided, but did not entirely go away. She unfolded herself and assumed a pose not unlike Linda's, regarding her with a curious stare. "You used to work for my dad?"

"Um-hmmh," Linda said. She tried to smile sweetly and make her voice as pleasant as possible, although it wasn't the way she felt. "I worked for your dad up in Chicago."

"Ooooohhhhh!" Sherry said, her eyes suddenly lighting up. "You must be that lady spy Mom was always talking about."

"I am NOT a SPY!!!" Linda exclaimed, coming to her feet. "Goddammit, why does every Birkin woman I come across think I'm a spy?!!" She stopped as she saw Sherry scuttle backwards in fright, fear clear in her eyes once again. Linda calmed herself as best she could, then carefully bent down on one knee and held open her hands in supplication. "I'm sorry, Sherry. I didn't mean to scare you like that. It's just that I think your mother has me confused with someone else."

Sherry edged back, but Linda noted that she stayed just out of reach. "Somebody who's trying to steal the work my dad is doing?"

"That's right." Linda lowered her arms, and again resumed her half-sitting, half-reclining posture as before. "It wouldn't be the first time a big company has had someone sneak in and pretend to be somebody else so they can steal their secrets. It's not me, I can tell you that, only your mother doesn't believe me." She turned her head away from Sherry, staring out the large grate beside the door. "I don't know who they are or why they picked me to pose as, but whoever they are has made my life a living hell – and almost gotten me killed twice today."

Linda would have said more, but she was interrupted by the sound of running feet and gunshots that grew closer. Linda grabbed the autopistol even as both she and Sherry came to their feet. Both backed away from the door, and Linda help up the autopistol with a pair of shaking hands. Oh God, she was scared again, and she couldn't let that happen again. She had to face her fear. She had to protect Sherry, because Elza was—

The basement door flew open and Elza charged back inside, turning back to shoot at something with her pistol. They heard a yelp and a groan, and then Elza slammed the door shut. She turned, and then stopped as she stared straight into an autopistol barrel that was shaking so bad that its wielder couldn't have hit anything save at point-blank range – which this happened to be.

Linda's relief was so great that she almost dropped the autopistol. "Thank God!" she exclaimed, even as Elza recovered and rushed through the Service Bay door. The younger woman grabbed at a nearby toolkit, then forcibly wedged a long and thick screwdriver through the exposed lock mechanism even as Linda talked on. "Where have you been, Elza? Getting those keys shouldn't have taken that long! And where's your flamethrower?"

"Back in there!" Elza barked. "Just a moment!" Just as she finished forcing the screwdriver into place, a frenzied pounding began on the basement hallway door beyond, and they could hear the sound of muffled moaning. There was also a smell, a faint acrid smell, which Linda's nose was just beginning to detect. She couldn't quite place it, nor did Elza give her time. She grabbed the autopistol out of Linda's hand and ran for the open manhole, waving at them. "Come on!" she yelled. "They're right behind me, and I ran out of fuel before I got back! It's all right, though! The building's on fire now! We've got to get out of here, before they figure out how to get in – or we'll turn in to Post Toasties right along with 'em!"

"ON FIRE?!" Linda exclaimed, as she and Sherry ran after Elza.

By now Elza had swapped her autopistol with her SiG in her tactical holster, and stuck the SiG in a spare pocket. She grabbed Sherry and practically manhandled her into the manhole. "You first, Sherry," Elza said. "Linda, you next. I'll go last. Hurry!"

The other two did as they were told. There was no denying the urgency in Elza's voice, and by now all of them could smell the smoke. Elza followed after them just as soon as Linda's head disappeared from sight. She stopped at the top of the manhole while still partway out, then reached over and grabbed the manhole cover. Her muscles straining, she pulled it after her and over the top of the hole. The lid fell and clattered into place even as Elza scrambled down the ladder, not looking back nor caring to do so. She was done with the RPD, and the RPD was done for. Any hope they now had for getting back to the others, and escaping the Outbreak, lay in the deep and unknown tunnels of the Sewers below.

About a half-a-minute after the manhole had clanged shut, the basement door flew open. Smoke filled the hallway beyond, and there was a yellowish red glow coming from the far end. A flaming zombie staggered through the now-open door, screaming in agony as it burned alive – or unalive, perhaps? A half-minute later it fell, and moved no more. The charnel smell of burned flesh filled the air, as the glow at the end of the hallway grew brighter.

 

END PART ONE

\--------------------

INTERLUDE 1

The old RPD station was fully engulfed in flames by the time it received its next set of human visitors. They stood across the street in the shadows of one of the nearby buildings, watching as it burned. There were about a half-dozen or so of them, all dressed in the black paramilitary gear of the Umbrella Security Service (U.S.S.), save that each had customized or invidualized it according to their peculiar vocation or tastes. Their leader, a middle-aged woman of firm athletic build, who was wearing an open-faced lit gas mask, turned to the hooded figure who stood next to her – a tall man whose every movement seemed to mask his figure in shadow. "What do you think?" she asked, in a raspy voice that might have belonged to a twelve-pack-a-day smoker.

The hooded man shook his head. "Not a chance," he answered in a chilly but contemplative tone.

"I agree," the woman replied.

She was about to say more, but a big burly member of the group interrupted her. "What the fuck do we do now?" he demanded.

"Report in," the woman answered calmly, "and see what happens."

The burly man scowled even as the woman raised her hand to her headset. "Control, this is Wolf Pack. Current target is completely engulfed in flames. We can't reach it. Visual feed on channel. Are you receiving, over?"

There was a pause, and then a tinny male voice with more than a hint of a hiss in it sounded in the group's headsets. "We are receiving, over." There was a pause, and then the voice spoke again. "What does your best man say?"

The woman looked at the hooded figure. "Not even he's willing to risk the fire," she responded coldly. As if to accent her words, there was a crashing noise from the direction of the RPD. As they watched, the upper floors of the building collapsed and fell inward, sending flaming debris and smoke everywhere.

"Confirmed," came the voice again. "New orders. We will send a regular USS team to sift the ruins, and see if they can find anything. Proceed to your next target. Out."

The woman lowered her hand from her headset. As she did so, the burly man spat on the ground. "One of these days, I'm gonna kill that sunnabitch," he growled.

"I'd like to see you try," said the second woman in the group, of short build and with obvious Oriental features behind her own gas mask.

The burly man turned on her. "Oh, YEAH?!" he bellowed. "Well WHO THE FUCK ASKED YOU?!?!"

"SHUT UP!!!" roared the middle-aged woman. The burly man stopped cold. The middle aged woman walked up to him and pointed an accusing finger in his face. Despite their differences in size, it was obvious to all who was in charge here. "Shut your hole. Remember who pays your checks."

There was a long pause, and then the burly man backed down. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, as he lowered his head and slunk back into his place among the group.

"All right then," the middle-aged woman continued, her glare taking in everyone in the group. "You heard the man. We leave this mess for HUNK's pretty boys to clean up. As for us, we proceed to our next target. Now let's move, people."

And with that, the black-clad group dissolved into the night.

\--------------------

... to be continued ...


End file.
